‘So I can be in here?’
‘You can be that close.’
George could see all he needed to from where he stood. He could see the splatter too. He was always surprised just how much of a mess the human body could make. ‘Are we getting the clean team in?’
‘No. We don’t do that anymore, George.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since the cuts, I suppose.’
‘So you get to clean up your own family member’s insides now?’
‘Welcome to the new regime.’
‘That’s awful. Have you still got the contact details for them? It’s the council that do it, right?’
‘I used to call the council — the hygiene people. They had a contact — a private company, and basically that is what they do. They clean up the stuff that nobody else will touch.’
‘Do you still have the number?’
‘I actually have the company owner’s number. I should be able to dig it out. But they won’t do it. Nobody does anything for free these days, George, no matter how sad your story.’
‘I wasn’t expecting it for free.’
Ali dug around in her suit and produced a phone. She slid a finger out of her glove to operate it. George felt his phone vibrate. ‘I’ve sent you the number for the council. You’ll need to speak to them before 5 p.m., though. They work office hours.’
‘Thanks, Ali. Let Paul know first — when you’re ready to move Janice, I mean.’
‘Will do.’
George moved back through to where Stan was sitting. He looked up at George. ‘It’s not going to be long, Stan, I can’t give you an exact time, but I reckon within the hour. Ali will pop through and talk to you and Paul here when it’s time. I’m going to head back to carry on with my bit. I’ll talk to you regularly Stan and you can speak to me any time of day. You have my number.’
‘Thanks, George.’
George turned to where Emily stood behind him. ‘Stan, this is DC Emily Ryker. She’s our finest intelligence officer. She’s going to be helping with the investigation too. We’ve got our best people on this, Stan — trust me on that.’
Stan lifted up watery eyes to take in Emily, then he slumped back to stare at the floor again.
George returned to the car and Emily walked out with him. She slid into the passenger seat as he fiddled with his phone. It started ringing through the speakers as he turned the car around on the gravel.
‘KMS cleaning services, Kerry speaking, how can I help you?’ The voice sounded distant through the tinny speakers.
‘Good afternoon. My name is George Elms. I’m a police inspector in Langthorne. I understand you provide a specialist cleaning service for us when a crime scene demands it. Is that right?’
‘Oh. Well . . . yes. We have done in the past, Mr Elms, but that contract has run its course. We no longer work with the police. We were informed there was no funding for this sort of thing anymore.’
‘I see. I know I’ve used you people in the past, Kerry, and I couldn’t put a price on what you guys do. I’m faced with an elderly gent who in a short time will be asked to mop up what is left of his wife from his kitchen floor. That just doesn’t sit right with me.’
‘I see. I mean, I agree, of course. That isn’t right.’
‘Can I ask . . . are you the K in KMS, Kerry?’
‘I’m the whole thing. My initials. Not very original, eh?’
George chuckled, ‘Well, no. What can I say? I can’t even pretend I’m impressed with the creativity there!’
‘I picked it out of a shortlist. It was either that or Guts R Us. This isn’t an easy business to brand.’
George laughed harder. ‘I like it! I think maybe you should have stayed with the guts name. Just my personal opinion.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind. Look, I’m very sorry we can’t help. Obviously you can pass our details on to your man who’s facing the clean-up. We’ll be more than happy to come out.’
‘I honestly don’t think he would even be capable right now. I was hoping to get it arranged without involving him to be honest. What sort of cost would he be looking at?’
‘We would come out and quote you. But if it’s one room, for example, our prices would start at six hundred. Depends if you need anything specialist or deep cleaned.’
‘Six hundred! I see. Look, I’d like to put this through us. I know there’s no contract or relationship with us anymore but if you could do it for a more palatable price you could invoice me direct. I’ll make sure the bill is met.’
‘I don’t think that’s going to be possible, Mr Elms. I’m really sorry. Your police force were not very quick payers historically, and that was when there was a system in place. I can’t afford to be waiting on jobs.’
‘I appreciate that. This would be a direct invoice to me. If I can’t turn it round in three working days you can bill my own credit card. You have my word. That’s the word of a police officer right there, Kerry!’
‘I’ve worked with plenty of police officers, Mr Elms.’
‘Shit!’ George laughed. ‘In that case, I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘No you shouldn’t.’ George detected laughter on the other end of the phone.
‘How about three hundred and you can take card details from me now. I’ll try and get it back on expenses, but that will be my problem. You’ll have your money.’
‘I’ll have half my money, Mr Elms.’
‘George, please. Call me George.’
‘Thank you. So I’d have half of my money, George.’
‘Three-fifty.’
‘Five hundred, George. I’ll give you a discount for bare-faced cheek.’
‘Come on, Kerry! This is my money here. I’m trying to look out for my victim. Sixty-two years married. I won’t have him cleaning up her blood. I can’t have that. I will do it myself, but I’ve seen what you people do and I know how good you are. What you may not know is just how important you are in that person’s recovery.’
‘Flattery will get you nowhere.’
‘I was already getting nowhere! Four hundred and you have my word that I will get you back at the table for a renewed contract.’
‘We’ve already talked about policemen and their word!’
‘Not me, Kerry. You’ve never dealt with me.’
‘No offence if I say I don’t want to again.’
George was back to laughing again. He fidgeted to pull his wallet out of his back pocket. ‘Kerry, I’m going to hand over to my glamorous assistant. She’ll give you address details and a contact number for the CSI. She’ll also give you the payment details for the three-hundred-and-fifty-pound payment. This has been an expensive shift, Kerry . . .’
‘Fine. Pass her over and I will take the details for your four-hundred-pound payment. And that’s before inspection. Best I can do.’
‘You’re a wonderful person, Kerry. And that’s exactly what I’m going to say when I get back to head office. I look forward to working with you in the future.’
‘I’m sure you do.’
George grinned over at Emily. He was gesturing with his wallet. She took it out of his hand and introduced herself. A few minutes later and the call was completed.
‘That was good of you,’ Emily said. ‘You know you won’t see that money again, George — not with our finance department.’
‘This man’s already destroyed. I can’t imagine what happens to him if we leave him to clean that up. I’m going to have the bastards that did this. I need your help, Emily.’
‘I said I would.’
‘You did, but around this other job. I know that’s the force priority but it needn’t necessarily be ours. You saw him back there . . .’
‘I did. You made sure I did. You made sure he knew I was on board and you put me in a front row seat to listen to you begging for a clean-up. I get it. I get that you’ve taken this one personal. I will do what I can, George, just like I always do when you ask me to.’
‘I know
you will. Sorry, Emily, I didn’t mean to rub your nose in it. I just know that when you put your effort into something you always get a result. I need a result.’
‘What did you just get told about flattery?’
‘A lie, Emily. I just got told a big, fat lie.’
Emily grinned. George was relieved. She had seen straight through him, just like she always did. But she was still on board and that would bring results.
Chapter 13
George didn’t sleep well. A few years before he had been stood too close to an explosion and suffered damage to his ears that he’d been told might be permanent. That damage currently took the form of a constant whooshing in his ears — or tinnitus, to give it its medical name. This wasn’t the only hindrance to a good night’s sleep. The last few years of worrying and wondering about his wife and child had added to his difficulties. Now he was quite accepting of his condition. It was amazing how you could adapt when you needed to. George had once been someone desperately in need of his eight hours’ sleep and now he seemed to manage well enough on just a couple per night.
He was awake when his phone went off. It was plugged into its charging cable on the kitchen side. George didn’t always make it to bed; often he would fall asleep in front of whatever was on television. The noise of inane chatter or mocked up explosions was far more relaxing than the whooshing and whirring of his tinnitus. He was still lying out on the sofa. It was just a few minutes after dawn and he was considering how long he should wait before having his first cup of tea of the day.
He moved quickly across the room to his phone. The screen said RYKER and he frowned.
‘What the hell are you doing up at this time of day?’ he said.
‘Who said I was up?’ Emily sounded tired. Her voice was lower than normal and her words were breathy.
‘I guessed you would have to be up to call me. I can’t imagine you would have anything new to tell me from your bed.’
‘That’s how good I am, see? I put the word out about your farm shooting like I said I would. I got woken up by a text from one of the source handlers. They’ve been offered some information. And if I’m awake because of you then I’m definitely waking you up.’
George snatched the phone away from the wire. He walked over to the large window at the far side of the lounge. It looked out over the English Channel. The sea was calm and blue and the sky matched it. ‘What information?’
‘That was all the message said—’
‘You didn’t call me at 5 a.m. to tell me someone had sent you a text message, Ryker—’
‘If you’ll let me finish! I don’t function too well this time of the morning, George. I called him back.’
‘Who? The source handler?’
‘Yes, the source handler. I called him back and he apologised for waking me up, but he had just got off the phone from one of his sources. He was asking to meet. The handler asked what it was all about and he gave him enough to know that it was about the farm shooting.’
‘What did he give?’ George bit down on his lip; he was struggling to stop himself from jumping in.
‘Jesus, George! Give me a chance. He said he knew about a crew. They go out and do rural breaks. They’ve been working in Sussex mainly, but he reckons they crossed the border to do your job. They target wealthy people who live out in isolated areas.’
‘That would fit.’
‘It would. The source reckons there’s a bit more to it than chance. He said something about one of the crew working off a debt — maybe he was borrowing against their takings. Whatever the reason, he chose the venue and he promised them they would get their money back and then some.’
‘From Stan Wingmore?’
‘From that house, yeah.’
‘So what, this crew member knows there’s money there?’
‘That’s what it sounds like.’
‘Your source handler, is he going out to get more information?’
‘Yeah. But George — you’re not going to like it — they’re all out meeting their regulars over the next two or three days over this other job. He’s arranged to talk to him by the end of the week. He’s hoping to set something up by Friday. In Dover somewhere. He said he would give me an update as soon as there is one, but—’
‘Friday’s no good, Emily! He needs to speak to him before then — like, today!’
‘I knew you’d say that. I said the same. He said there was no way that was going to happen. They’ve got direction from up on high. There’s a lot of pressure to clean this other mess up, George. The media don’t even know about Stanley Wingmore’s night.’
‘You know I can’t accept that.’
‘I knew you wouldn’t want to.’
‘Can you go back to him?’
‘And say what?’
‘I’ll speak to Whittaker, get him to put his weight about. He can clear the way for the handler to go and meet him today.’
‘I don’t know if that will do any good. I think Whittaker might even prefer him to be trying to get results for the Dover shooting. No one’s under more pressure than he is around that.’
‘Who was it, Ryker?’
‘Who was what?’
‘The handler you spoke to?’
‘You know I can’t tell you that, George. I did you a favour going to them in the first place — it was all off the record.’
‘And he told you off the record, but why would he do that? He would know that you would go to the investigator with the information, otherwise what is the point of it? I just want to know who it is so I can sound it out with them. Make sure there isn’t anything more that he missed out.’
‘Give me some credit, George.’
‘I’m not mugging you off, Ryker. I know you don’t miss a trick. But that’s my excuse to call him.’
‘I can’t do any more, George, I’ve already done too much.’
‘I know where they’re based, Ryker. I’ll go over there and ask everyone if they spoke to you.’
‘You can’t do that! Why are you being an arsehole? I’m trying to help you out. He shouldn’t be calling me direct with that information — it all needs to go through a controller. You’ll get him into all sorts of trouble.’
‘He might get booted off the team, Ryker. I don’t want to do that, I don’t want him in trouble and I definitely don’t want to be stitching you up. But he knows something, or at least he knows someone who might be able to get me a little closer to these bastards. It’s even more important now — if these people are out of the county, they’ll disappear. You know I’m right. Just tell me who you spoke to. I’ll go to him direct. I’ll be subtle and I’ll ask him to help me. I’ll tell him that I ordered you to tell me his details.’
‘You’re an arsehole, George.’ The phone fell silent.
‘Ryker? RYKER? Dammit!’ George threw the phone over onto his sofa. He turned back to the view. His mind rushed through all the options. He didn’t have many. The source handling team were a closed bunch with a very clear structure for gaining information and feeding it back up the line, just a few officers and a sergeant covering the whole of the south side of the division. Their roles were to effectively form relationships with CHIS — Covert Human Intelligence Sources. More often than not, these were petty criminals, drug addicts or low-level gang members who were willing to meet with undercover officers and trade information. Their reward varied from having their gas bill paid to a free McDonalds or cash in their pocket. It was controversial, but effective. Such was the risk to the sources that every interaction had a strict set of rules. Just as strict were the rules around how the information gleaned was recorded and passed on. To step outside of protocol was to risk everything — it was the same for any of the officers. George was trying to think of a way he could use that to his advantage. Turning up and applying some pressure wouldn’t work; they would shut up shop and he would never get what he needed. But he couldn’t just do nothing, just accept that there was a way of getting closer to this gang but
that it would have to wait until the end of the week. George was back to peering out at the sea when his phone pinged. He walked over to it. It was a text message from Emily: Andy McGuiness.
George punched the air. He knew McGuiness. He hadn’t known he was a source handler. He had been a response copper when George had been a sergeant running a team of detectives investigating burglaries. He had been good, too — pro-active. He liked to get in the faces of the bad guys. George’s kind of copper.
His phone beeped again from Emily. It was a row of digits — a mobile phone number. George was in cotton trousers and an old jumper. He needed a shower and then he would make the call from the car. He didn’t know where he was going to be going but he was determined it would be somewhere. He threw the phone back onto the sofa. He was nearly to the bathroom when it pinged again and he had to double back. Another message from Emily: Arsehole.
George smirked. He couldn’t disagree.
Chapter 14
Jenny woke in panic. She had been dreaming and it had been vivid. Joseph had their daughter. He was saying that they needed to go, and that they needed to go now. He’d said they couldn’t take Isobel with them. Jenny had been frantic. She was trying to get Isobel off Joseph and then, suddenly, she was leaving and Isobel was sat up in bed crying hard, her arms jutting forward — crying for her mother. Jenny was still panicked and stricken as she jolted awake, and it took her some time to calm down enough to recognise where she was: a wood cabin, bright with light, the air thick with a scented layer of smoke. It all came rushing back. She felt cold, so cold. She swung her legs around so that the wood burner was almost between them. The cast iron was still warm to the touch, but the heat was nothing like it had been. She opened the door, it was heavy and it creaked. The stove bottom had a layer of white embers, some two inches deep, that still glowed red in its centre when she prodded it with some kindling. Sure enough, the small pieces of fresh wood caught straight away. She stacked it up with bigger pieces on top and finally a couple of logs. Within a couple of minutes it was roaring again.
THEN SHE RAN an absolutely gripping crime thriller with a massive twist Page 12
