THEN SHE RAN an absolutely gripping crime thriller with a massive twist

by Charlie Gallagher

  George laughed; he couldn’t help it. ‘Yeah, I suppose it might. So you’re just going to have to trust me on face value, Andy, and hope I don’t fuck it up.’

  ‘What do you need?’

  ‘The name of your source — so I can go and talk to him.’

  ‘No chance! I can’t be telling you who we’re talking to. You know that just as well as I do. And don’t think rank plays any part either. I’ve seen higher-ranking officers than you get smacked down trying to circumnavigate our processes. It doesn’t happen.’

  ‘I’m not here to pull rank, Andy. I know how far that would get me. Just hear me out. You can’t go and talk to this bloke because they want you focussed on this other job. So you give me the name and I go and talk to him. But, where you can just call him up and arrange a meet, I need to be a bit more creative. I’ll bump him on the street, get him to talk to me about what he knows without him knowing that I’ve spoken to you.’

  ‘How are you going to do that?’

  George didn’t know. He hadn’t thought that bit through yet. ‘It depends on who our friend is, Andy. There’s always an in. You can tell me a bit about him and we can come up with an idea from there.’

  Andy was back to shaking his head. ‘It won’t work, George. There’s no way. What are you suggesting? You start a casual conversation on the street and then suddenly ask if he knows anything about some shooting in the arse-end of nowhere that no one else knows a thing about? He’d see through that in a heartbeat.’

  George stroked his chin. ‘It will be tricky, Andy, I agree. But you have to trust that I can do it. I know you can’t visit him, because you’re tasked elsewhere and you couldn’t justify being out talking with him rather than where you should be. You could pick up the phone and ask him direct. That wouldn’t look out of place coming from you, would it?’

  ‘I told you . . . I can’t do that. There’s risks with asking too much over the phone. You never know who’s in the background, who he’s with or even if the voice is your source. We don’t conduct our business over the phone.’

  ‘You’re right. So all that’s left is for me to bump him in the street. Tell me his name and we can talk about a plan.’

  ‘I know what you’re doing, George. You’re backing me into a corner. You think I’ll decide the only option is for me to visit him. I can’t do that.’

  George took a few seconds to swig at his coffee. It was strong and bitter. ‘That is the only option though, right? I mean, when you think about it?’

  ‘Fuck’s sake, George! Look, I’ll see what I can do, okay? I’ve got your number now. I’ll let you know if I can get the time to call on him later.’

  ‘Now.’ George said. He gestured at Andy’s phone that was laid out on the table.

  ‘What do you mean now? It’s six in the morning!’

  ‘And you got a call at what? Half four? My guess is this guy’s a crackhead, or hard on the heroin for sure. So he wakes up with the sun in some hovel and he’s clucking for his score. He’s had your call and he knows a bit. Just enough that you might give him the twenty quid he needs for his hit. We both know he’s up now, probably waiting for a shop to open so he can go out with his foil-lined bag and start grafting for the day. Call him now.’

  ‘And offer him what? These people want their payment. Especially if he’s who you just described. He won’t give me anything unless I’m sat opposite with a wallet.’

  ‘I’ll drop the money in.’

  ‘This again! I told you, he can’t know I’ve spoken to anyone else! If he knows I’m telling people he’s a grass, even other coppers, he’ll walk. He gives good information. We’ve had results off the back of his intel. And if I lose him it’s a butterfly effect, he’s got at least two people linked to him who are in the same business, George, and who knows who else. Suddenly we lose a lot of snouts that are doing good work. They’re gonna know it started with me — the other handlers, I mean — and I’m back on nights. Or worse, I’m out of a job.’

  ‘Think, Andy! I don’t have to meet with someone to give them money. Be creative. I just need a door number and an envelope, right?’

  Andy downed his coffee. His face creased like he hadn’t exactly enjoyed the taste. ‘I don’t appreciate being put in this position, George. I don’t appreciate it at all.’

  ‘I don’t appreciate promising an elderly man that I will find the bastards who ended his sixty-two-year marriage by pulling a trigger, who sucked every ounce of joy out of his life in that one action, and then having to go back to him and tell him that I wasn’t able to do it because one of the other lads in the force is shit scared of having to buy a torch. I know you, Andy, I know you well enough to remember what you were like when you were uniform. You were my sort of bloke, a thief-taker. You hate these bastards just as much as I do. You might have forgotten it but, I promise, a minute with what’s left of Stanley Wingmore and it will all come rushing back. I’ve got to speak to Stan later today. I want to tell him that we’ve got some idea, because right now I’ve got none — none at all. Get on the phone to your snout. I need to know what he knows about who did this. I’ll be clever with the information. I’m getting good at making it look like I’ve stumbled over something I knew was there. You have to trust me, Andy.’

  ‘You’re still not giving me much of a choice, are you?’

  George did nothing to hide his frustration, it came out in a sort of growl. ‘Fine! You want a choice, Andy? I’ll give you a choice. I will walk out of here and I will crack on with my investigation as best I can. While the rest of the county’s resources are out looking for a gang who shot up a car in Dover, I will do what I can to find the people who went to Stan’s house and left his kitchen covered in his wife’s blood. I will look Stan in the eye and I will tell him that I’m doing all I can. And I will not make any trouble for you with your sergeant, with your team. No one will know that you offered some information to Emily outside of your processes. So that’s your first option. Your second option is that you make a phone call to your source. You find out what he knows by asking all the questions that you were saving for your face-to-face in a few days’ time. Then you call me. You give me an update and you tell me his address. I’ll drop off his payment — whatever you agree. I’ll handle that so it’s off the books. The choice is yours, Andy.’

  George stood up. He dropped a fiver on the table. Andy had been staring at his phone, as if hoping it might provide inspiration. He looked up at George. ‘I’m not being difficult, you know. I want to help.’

  ‘I believe that, Andy. I know you’re one of the good ones. And you can help. Right now, you’re all I’ve got. You have my number.’

  George made his way to the exit. He started his car and moved away. He turned off the main road into a housing estate as soon as he could and parked up. He didn’t want to risk Andy driving past him. He looked at the clock on the dash. The time was 06:40 hours. He would give it until 07:00. If he hadn’t heard anything by then he would have to start moving towards the police office where he knew the source team was based. He knew they started at 8 a.m. but that the sergeant was often there at least half an hour earlier. George could be there at the same time. He was going to threaten him the same way as he had hinted with Andy: that his whole team would be exposed if he didn’t allow Andy to make that visit. If all went well he would be away before the team arrived and the job could still be done under the radar. Who was he kidding? Once he entered that building, none of it would be under the radar — that much was for certain.

  George peered out of the window. The distant thump of a car door drew his attention. A man in a suit got into a saloon car over the road. Starting his daily commute, George thought. His phone pinged with a message. It was surely too soon to be from Andy. It was from Paul Bearn. I’ve picked up the daughter from the airport. We’re not far from the address. She’s keen to talk to you. Call me when you’re up. Sorry if this woke you!

  George went to staring back out of the window as the ca
r with the suit moved off. ‘Woke me!’ George scoffed. It was good news though. Paul had done some sound work tracking down the daughter, who lived in Italy with her husband. She’d dropped everything to come home. If the daughter was sensible she could be a good conduit; they could start getting things done. George would try and get to see her this morning. This afternoon was his daughter’s birthday and nothing was important enough to get in the way of that.

  Three minutes to seven and George’s phone rang. George recognised the code — it was local.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘George.’

  ‘Andy? Thanks for calling.’

  ‘Don’t be too quick to thank me.’

  George grimaced. The call came through the speakers on George’s phone. He moved his hand to the car keys that hung from the ignition. ‘Okay, then. Andy, what are you thinking?’

  ‘We’ve got taskings on our email already. I’ve just checked on my secure phone. They’ve got us out on meetings from the off — they’re all for this other job. I can’t get to talk to your man.’

  ‘That’s disappointing, Andy.’

  ‘I know, I guessed as much. Look, George, you said you could bump this bloke, make it so he had no idea you had spoken to me. I don’t know how that’d play out, I don’t see a way of doing it if I’m honest. I could trust you with it, but this is my job — my life, George. I mean, shit, you’ve got me pulling over at a roadside and using a phone box!’

  ‘I didn’t even know they still did phone boxes, Andy.’ George fired up the car. Andy wouldn’t help him; he would head to Andy’s office himself and drop in on his sergeant. He had no choice. No other options. Andy would never forgive him, of course. George would have time to be sorry for that later.

  ‘Me neither. I know I’m letting you down, but you have to understand that we protect our sources above all else. It’s an absolute basic.’

  George shuffled forward in his car seat, struck by a sudden revelation. ‘So, you stopped to call me from a phone box to tell me you can’t help, is that right?’

  ‘That’s right, George. I stopped to tell you that I can’t tell you about Nicholas Yarney. I can’t go and speak to him on your behalf and I certainly can’t tell you who he is, so you can talk to him yourself. And like I say, the reason for that is because he cannot know that I have spoken to anyone about him. Sorry, George. If I can help in the future, you know I will.’

  The line went dead. George beamed at the car’s display as it confirmed the call had ended. ‘Bless you, Andy.’ He dialled out immediately and the car’s speakers made a ringing sound.

  ‘What the hell do you want now?’

  ‘At 5 a.m. you had the right to be grumpy, Ryker. What’s your excuse now?’

  ‘I just know that you’re about to ask me something that will either get me sacked, my card marked or my fingers burnt. Out with it, George Elms.’

  George could still feel himself grinning. ‘You know me so well, Ryker. What do you know about Nicholas Yarney?’

  ‘Where did that name come from?’

  ‘Do you know it?’

  ‘Is that what you bullied out of our source handler?’

  ‘Not at all, Ryker. I’ve never heard it before. Just call it a hunch. Us coppers are famous for them, right?’

  ‘You have a hunch about someone you’ve never heard of?’

  ‘Some of us are that good. Now, are you going to help me or not?’

  ‘It’s 7 a.m., George. I’m not due in for another hour. I’ll find out what I can when I get there. Do you know anything more about him?’

  ‘You said Andy was originally planning on meeting with him in Dover. I guess that means he’s local to there.’

  ‘So it is a name you’ve bullied. I’ll see what I can find out. You be careful round him though, George. You know all about source information, right?’

  ‘Of course. In an hour?’ George pushed.

  ‘Yes, George. In an hour.’

  ‘Only I’m sat in a car that’s ticking over. I need to catch him going out or coming in. I need it to look like I was just casually asking about something he might know something about.’

  ‘Really? How the hell are you going to make that believable?’

  ‘That’s similar to what Andy said. He trusts me, though.’

  ‘Did you give him a choice?’

  ‘There’s always a choice.’

  ‘Then he’s a fool.’

  ‘Thanks for the support. Can you get in any earlier? I know you could, Ryker, if you wanted to.’

  ‘There are a lot of things I could do if I wanted to, George. I’m pretty much on my way. You’re lucky. Seeing as how I got woken up at fuck-o’clock in the morning to take a call for you, then you made me so angry I couldn’t get back to sleep. I’m up and sorted early. I don’t owe you any favours, though, George, I genuinely have no idea why I am helping you.’

  ‘Don’t think of it as helping me, Ryker. Think of that poor fella up at that farmhouse. You can still pretend you’re not helping out an arsehole.’

  ‘I really don’t like your tactics sometimes, George. You get what you want and to hell with everyone else. You need to be aware of that, of how it comes across to people around you. People who care about you.’

  ‘I get that. I’m sorry, Ryker. You know I care about you, too. I don’t want to upset you. Not ever. But it’s only ever for the right reasons. Our friend Stan quite literally needs putting back together. We’re all a part of that now.’

  ‘Don’t I know it. I should have something in twenty minutes.’

  ‘I love you, Emily Ryker.’

  ‘It’ll be thirty minutes then.’

  George moved off. He hadn’t finished his coffee at the services. He moved towards where he knew there was a place nearby. He could get a coffee and maybe a hot roll. He had no idea how long he might need to sit waiting on Nicholas Yarney. George also needed to think of some sort of plan — a pretext for speaking to Yarney so that he’d have no idea that Andy had named him as a grass. And bearing in mind that he’d last offered information just a few hours before, Andy had been right to be wary: George wasn’t sure that it was going to be possible at all.

  Chapter 16

  Stanley Wingmore walked towards his house. The drive needed a little TLC. It was mostly compressed shingle and gravel but it was starting to show up a little bare in places. There were some parts that needed repairs, some dips and holes that collected water whenever it rained. They were on his list for jobs in the spring. Janice had nagged him every time they drove on it. He carried a coffee in a thermal travel mug. It was borrowed from where he had stayed the night with his closest neighbour, who had moved in around twenty years before. Since then, they’d become good friends, despite the fact that they were still a fair distance away. Stanley had always liked the fact that no matter where he stood in his house, he couldn’t see any another buildings. Sometimes, on those rare occasions when his own family members were out, it could be nice to pretend that he was the only man left in the world.

  This morning was one of those times. Unfortunately this daydream was quickly ruined as he rounded the natural curve in his drive to be met with a marked patrol car parked across it. There was blue and white tape, too, that stated: POLICE DO NOT CROSS. It wrapped around the wing mirror of the car then ran out until it was tied off on his fence. The car was covered with a layer of moisture as if it had been there all night. The driver’s door pushed open. An officer stood up and pulled his black jacket tighter. He was bleary-eyed and offered a weak smile. He fixed his hat. He looked like he had been there all night too.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Wingmore. Early start today, sir?’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep.’ Stan stood still while the officer wrote his details in a white book. He checked his watch; it was just before seven.

  ‘I’m sure you couldn’t. We are expecting the CSI officer back this morning, sir. She’ll be here around eight. I’m supposed to accompany you unt—’

  ‘There
’s no need for that, son. I came to be in the barn. I have a kitchen in there at least. I wanted to be nearer to home. It makes me feel closer to my wife. I’m sure you understand, son. The nice CSI lady, she said she didn’t have a problem with me being in there.’ He let his eyes drop to the ground. He could see the officer shuffling from one foot to another.

  ‘Of course. But I’ll come find you around quarter to eight if that’s okay. If CSI get here and I’m still sat in the car I might get myself in trouble. Does that sound reasonable?’

  ‘Sounds reasonable to me, son. I will behave. I promise.’

  The officer chuckled. ‘This whole conversation feels ridiculous! I really don’t like telling you where to go on your own land, sir. We just don’t want anything lost down there that might help us find who did this.’

  ‘I know that. I’ve been told that a lot. I’ll see you in a little while. I can offer you a cup of tea when you come down. You look like you could do with one.’

  ‘I look forward to that!’ the officer called after him.

  Stan carried on walking towards the house following the track left to his nearest barn and a side entrance to the estate that led off to a country lane. The cowards had driven away down there that night. Another marked car was parked straight ahead in the gravel clearing in front of his home. It, too, had a layer of moisture and he guessed there would be another officer inside. He could see the side of his house, but from a short distance.

  The barn was another on his list of repair jobs. It had once been the hub of a working farm, sheltering livestock, young and old. It had been a grain store, a garage for farm machinery and, more recently, a tack store when the stable block had been rented out. When his wife had insisted on changing the kitchen units in the house, he had recycled them and put them in here. It had been an easy fit; the units ran down the right side of the barn as he walked in. The kitchen area was separated from the rest of the building by a plywood wall. There was still some hay stored at the back; it was bundled up and starting to rot. Next to it were three bundles of wire that he used to make fences. He let other farmers use the barn for storage now and there were two modern-looking tractors that didn’t belong to him backed against the far wall. In the top left corner was Stan’s first ever tractor, the one he could never scrap despite its decrepit state and leaking pipes. It had been all he had used when he first started out in farming. He’d built his whole world around it. Now it was broken down in the corner, looking small, vulnerable and out of place against its modern counterparts. Stan suddenly felt as if he and his tractor had a lot in common.