by Chris Simms
‘To think it could have been my daughter…’
‘As I said, very unlikely.’
Jon considered the answer. Maybe he’s right; the guy’s an expert, after all. ‘You were mentioning something about status groups.’
‘Yup. To your organised guys, people from status groups are muppets. Can’t control their dogs, no appreciation of the animal’s pack mentality or how to show it dominant behaviour. Now that is when you get those incidents of the animal chewing up a three-year-old because she toddled into the back garden.’
The man’s words made sense. The dog that attacked Punch, the way it released its grip when whistled: it was highly trained. So what the hell was it doing running around on a golf course?
‘Sorry, Jon,’ the RSPCA inspector said, ‘I’ve really got to go.’
‘OK. How can I get hold of you, Nick? If you’re on the road up here.’
‘I’ll give you my mobile. Maybe I should take yours as well.’
Once the call was over, Jon tipped the phone from one palm to the other, considering Maccer’s advice once again. Take the hit. Risk Parks being pissed-off about the mess you’ve created. Start using the resources at your disposal. See how serious the situation really is. The National Crime Agency. What had Maccer said? Powers like the Gestapo’s. His eyes narrowed. Rick Saville, his partner at work, had come to the Major Incident Team via the graduate fast-track programme. The training involved rotations in many departments throughout the police service – intention being to prepare the officer for the supervisory role a senior rank entailed. During a rotation with the MIT, Rick had felt the buzz of a murder investigation and had dropped out of the programme. But not, Jon thought as he lifted his phone, before he’d completed a stint with the Agency.
‘All right, Rick?’
‘Yeah!’
His partner’s voice was full of cheer. A moment later, Jon heard the sound of a young boy’s laughter and realised why. Zak, an angelic-looking four-year-old with the sweetest of natures, had come about through Rick donating sperm to a lesbian couple. Rick got on well with them and they frequently dropped the lad off at Rick’s flat.
‘Got Zak here! Haven’t I, little fella? Got you here!’
Jon smiled at the sound of Rick’s gooey voice. Shame, he thought, I’m about to put a frown on your face. ‘Rick, you did a stint with the NCA, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah, when it was known as SOCA. Four months’-worth.’
‘Have you got an in with them? Anyone I could contact?’
His partner’s voice was now more serious. ‘I should think so. Why?’
Jon bowed his head. ‘I need some help.’
Rick spoke away from the phone. ‘Zak, go and jump on Andy, will you? Good boy.’ His voice came back stronger. ‘What’s up?’
‘I’m not sure. Could be something and nothing. Could be a lot worse.’
‘Go on.’
‘You know my visit to Ireland – ’
‘Oh shit. The people in the nightclub made a complaint, after all?’
‘No.’ He looked at the tightly drawn curtains and lowered his voice. ‘Punch has been attacked. We were walking him near the golf course. Some beast of a dog got hold of him. He’s at the vet’s now.’
‘Christ, Jon. Is he OK?’
‘Hopefully. He needed a blood transfusion. All kinds of stuff. This thing that attacked him – a bloke in a van whistled it back. I chased the vehicle on foot – managed to get a look at the number plate. It was from Ireland.’
‘You think it was them? From that nightclub?’
‘Maybe.’
His partner was silent for a few seconds. ‘They know where you live.’
‘If it was them.’
‘What was he called again? The bloke you chucked over the bar?’
‘That’s the thing. I only know the nightclub’s name. Darragh’s. But a quick search on the system…’ He checked the door was closed. ‘I need to know exactly who he is – what he might be part of.’
‘Oh.’ Rick replied. ‘I see what you’re getting at. And you don’t want this in the open until you know.’
‘Precisely. If he’s part of anything bigger and the nightclub’s a front for other stuff, which I think it is, the NCA may have something on him.’
‘I’m coming over.’
‘What? No need, mate, honestly.’
‘How’s Alice and Holly? Where were they when this happened?’
‘Close enough.’
‘Holly saw it?’
Jon wondered what to say. My daughter was inches away from being mauled. I was too far away to stop it. If Punch hadn’t... ‘She didn’t see all of it – but, yeah. She’s pretty upset.’
‘I’m coming over. Don’t mind me bringing Zak, do you? Andy’s got to work this evening.’
There was a knock on the door half an hour later. Dusk had fallen, but Jon had instructed Alice to keep the hallway light off. That way, no one out on the street could get a good idea of who was in the house.
He approached the door in the semi-darkness. ‘Rick?’
‘Yup.’
Jon slid the bolt across and opened up.
‘You OK?’
‘Yeah,’ Jon replied, giving a tight smile. ‘Come in.’ He waved them across the threshold, unable to resist a swift scan of the street before closing the door behind them. ‘Hiya, Zak. Holly’s in the kitchen.’
Rick set off down the corridor, Zak balanced in the crook of his arm. As usual, Jon found himself studying the tousled locks of fair hair hanging down over the little boy’s collar with concern. He wasn’t sure which school the two mums were planning on sending Zak to, but he was fairly sure they couldn’t afford to go private. He thought of the standard haircut for so many lads round Manchester. Cropped short at a barber’s, then what was left of the fringe plastered down their foreheads with cheap gel. They would look at Zak and think just one thing: he’s different. And when their parents whispered to them that the blond-haired kid lived with two women, Jon knew the baiting would begin.
Rick pushed the kitchen door half-open and thrust Zak through the gap. ‘Red alert, it’s a Zak-attack!’
Holly immediately dropped her felt–tip pen. ‘Zak!’
The two of them met halfway across the lino floor, Holly hugging the younger child before adopting her motherly tone. ‘Would you like to do colouring with me?’
Zak grinned back, happy to do anything.
‘Come on, then,’ Holly instructed, taking him by the hand and leading him to the chair next to hers.
Jon watched from the doorway as Rick stepped over to Alice. She had a strange smile on her face. Pleasure and anxiety fighting for control. Jon was just able to see her eyes glistening before they both embraced. Funny, he reflected, how Rick was able – without a word – to trigger emotions in her that she’s able to hold back with me. They embraced for longer than usual before Rick leaned back to look into her eyes. ‘You OK, gorgeous?’
She nodded, smiling again. ‘Coffee?’
‘Yes please.’
‘Jon? Why don’t you two go through to the telly room? Does Zak want some tea? It’s just beans on toast. I was doing some for Holly.’
‘You sure?’ Rick replied.
‘’Course.’
They headed into the telly room and Rick gestured at the closed curtains. ‘Is this all because…?’
Closing the door, Jon nodded. ‘It’s a nightmare. I’m ninety-nine per cent sure whoever was in that van isn’t in a hurry to come back.’ He held up a finger and thumb, a sliver of air between them. ‘But there’s just this tiny doubt…’
Rick sat on the sofa. ‘Did you get a look at them?’
‘I did the driver.’ Jon sank on to his saggy armchair with the threadbare arms. He thought about the man at the wheel. Straggly auburn hair, nose that looked like it had been broken a few times, muscular shoulders. ‘We were inches apart. I had hold of the van door’s handle. Nearly yanked my shoulder out when he accelerated away.
’ The fingers of his left hand caressed his right wrist, which still throbbed. The swelling wasn’t going down. ‘His face is filed. In here.’ He tapped his temple with a forefinger. ‘The other one was still in the rear of the van with the dog. The thing was going crazy.’
‘And it was a big animal, you said.’
‘Fucking huge. Not tall like a wolfhound. But big, you know? Muscles jumping off it. No flab. It had this spade for a head… Anyway, the NCA. Can we tap into it?’
Rick thinned his lips. ‘It’ll be bastard tricky. The whole system is audited for lawful business use.’
‘The PNC has security measures, too – but you can glean intelligence without necessarily leaving big footprints behind you.’
‘No, I mean it’s really pegged down. Every section is password-protected, all searches on them logged. Every email and phone call is stored and goes to hard disc.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. But if you need information – for legitimate reasons – it’s awesome. The whole Proceeds of Crime Act – the powers it bestowed…’ He shook his head. ‘It’s incredible. You know about SARs, right?’
Suspicious Activity Reports, Jon thought. ‘That’s when a business has to get consent, isn’t it? Like a guy walks into an Aston Martin dealership wanting to pay cash. The onus is on the dealership to approach the NCA for consent to sell it.’
‘Not just a business like a luxury car garage. Banks, building societies, solicitor’s firms. Any institution handling cash transactions.’
‘Over what sort of amount?’
Rick smiled and sat back. ‘Any cash transaction, whatever the size.’
‘You’re joking?’
Rick opened his palms. ‘What part of the term ‘police state’ don’t you understand? There was a joke going round when I did my stint there. People thought Parliament only opposed the Act for as long as they did because so many of the Honourable Members were shitting bricks about how their own private dealings could be exposed.’
Jon snorted. ‘Many a true word said in jest. So go on. SARs…’
‘Right. ELMA is the database for all SARs. Password-protected, as I mentioned. But once you’re in ELMA you can start refining your searches. Takes a bit of training, but you can go a hell of a lot deeper. Addresses related to an individual, bank accounts, companies the person does business with, names of the people in those companies, their bank accounts. It goes on…number of any passport or driving licence used as identity in any transaction.’ He opened his palms again and tickled the air with his fingers. ‘The web just spreads and spreads.’
‘To other countries as well?’ Jon asked.
Rick draped an arm across the back of the sofa. ‘You’re thinking about your recent trip, aren’t you? I know the Agency maintains contacts across the world. Our man in Columbia, our man in Belize, and so forth. There’s probably an entire team with Ireland as their remit. I imagine they’ll know the names of all the major players from memory – accessing the system may not even be necessary.’
Jon tipped his head and groaned at the ceiling. ‘I don’t have a name.’
The door opened and Alice came in with a couple of drinks. She placed them on the coffee table and slumped down on the sofa next to Rick. He regarded her for a moment then dropped his hand to start massaging the back of her neck. Her eyes half-closed in appreciation.
‘Try not to stress about this,’ Rick said quietly. ‘We’ll get it sorted out.’
Jon watched fondly as she leaned slightly toward his colleague. Physical contact between them was so relaxed they were more like brother and sister, he thought, slightly relieved at the fact Rick was gay. If it was any other man, my hackles would be up. He glimpsed the face of his watch. Shit! The nurse said the vet’s shut at six. He jumped to his feet.
‘What?’ Alice asked, the queasy look back on her face.
He held up his hands. ‘Nothing. The vet’s – I wanted to look in on Punch. They shut at six.’
Rick glanced at his own watch. ‘That’s now.’
‘I know – maybe I’ll catch it before it closes. Ali, is that OK?’
She looked at Rick. ‘You can stay a bit, can’t you?’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’
She looked back at Jon. ‘Yes.’
He hurried out into the hallway. ‘Daddy’s popping out for five minutes!’ he called through to Holly, yanking his jacket off the end of the banister.
Chapter 11
The sky was clear and a frost was already forming on the tiny patch of grass that was their front garden. He stepped onto the pavement, eyes sweeping the road.
A man was walking towards him, head down, shoulders hunched against the cold. Jon stood before his gate waiting to see if he recognised him. Six feet away, he looked up. The face was familiar – the bloke lived about six doors down. ‘Evening.’
‘Evening,’ the man replied, pace not slowing. ‘Going to be a cold one.’
‘Yup.’ Jon turned right and was on St Andrew’s Road in minutes. As he approached the semi-detached house in which the practice was based, he could see the ground floor was dark. He glanced up at the first-floor windows. A light was on. The shadowy form of someone moved behind a thin curtain.
She soon appeared in the next window, this one with nothing to obstruct his view. The young woman opened a cupboard, removed a mug and began to prepare a drink.
He considered knocking on the door, the urge to see Punch was so strong. He thought about how fast his dog’s ribs had been rising and falling. Little shallow gasps that seemed likely to stop at any moment. He squeezed his eyes shut but an image of the thing that had attacked his dog was waiting in his head. He blinked it away, but it was replaced by the look of fear on Alice’s face, the grief on Holly’s. My family. No one attacks my family. If I ever get my hands on the fuckers in that van. He let his train of thought run, picturing his fists slamming into their faces. He nodded to himself. It would be methodical. The driver first, one punch straight to his nose then an upper cut to snap the head back. If he was still standing, another to the side of his head. Once he dropped, it would be the turn of the guy in the back of the van. Jon allocated him the face of the nightclub owner. Again, one directed at the nose. Instant result – blood and tears so the bloke couldn’t see the next blows coming. He realised his breathing had picked up and his weight had gone on to the balls of his feet. Stop it, he told himself. Don’t let revenge fantasies take over.
The nurse was no longer at the kitchen window. Probably just putting her feet up, he thought. Seeing what’s on the telly. I can’t disturb her now. It wouldn’t be fair. Besides, they’d have rung me if there was anything to report. He squinted to make out the opening times on the notice below the brass plaque to the side of the front door. 8.00 a.m.
Turning to go, he thrust his hands into his pockets. His fingertips immediately brushed against something soft and he pulled it out before thinking. The flap of Punch’s ear. Earlier, he thought. I shoved it in my pocket earlier. At the golf course. Was that really this morning? It felt like a distant memory.
He contemplated the triangular piece of flesh. There’ll be payback for that, he said to himself, dropping it in the little bin at the top of the vet’s path. I need the name of the nightclub owner. I have to know who the bastard is. He racked his brain for anything. A memory of the noticeboard beside Clifden’s metallic monument. Something about fundraising for a new roof for the town’s Gaelic Football Club. He remembered the police officer saying how Darragh always put his hand in his pocket for local projects – including the sponsoring of that year’s Christmas lights. It was exactly the type of thing a local paper would report. What was the name of that one I flicked through in Mannion’s Bar? Galway Advertiser, that was it.
‘It’s me!’
Rick peered down the corridor from the kitchen doorway. ‘Make it in time?’
‘No.’ Jon slung his jacket back over the banister. ‘But I’ve thought of something.’ In the kitchen, Ho
lly and Zak were sitting at the table, bowls of ice cream with sprinkles before them.
Alice looked across from the corner chair. ‘Have you been running?’
He nodded. ‘Freezing out there.’ He turned to Rick, but his partner spoke first.
‘I was thinking. You know all the building work in Manchester before the recession? City-centre flats by the thousand – remember how ridiculous it got? During my stint with the Agency, they were looking into loads of the deals – ’
‘Tell me in the telly room,’ Jon cut in.
Rick’s eyes moved briefly to the youngsters and he nodded.
Once inside, Jon shut the door. ‘Go on.’
‘Finance for a lot of it was from investment companies that were traced back to Ireland. Suspicion was the money had come from the IRA’s coffers. There were layers upon layers – including offshore accounts – the investigation was still ongoing when my rotation came to an end.’
Jon sat down in front of his computer. The letters IRA hung heavy in his mind. Is that who I’ve messed with? He felt nauseous.
‘Thing is,’ Rick continued. ‘The guys I know who are still in the Agency, I could ask them if it’s possible to have a dig round tangentially.’
Jon glanced up at his partner. Tangentially. ‘You and your big words. In plain English, mate?’
Rick held a finger in the air. ‘You’re already looking into this area.’ He wormed the finger a little to the side. ‘A few related searches just over here would go unnoticed. They’d just be among dozens of avenues in an ongoing investigation. You could do it so it didn’t show up on any audit. Not unless they were going over it in forensic detail.’
Jon grinned, feeling a little better. ‘You know? Maybe there is something to this business of recruiting smart-arsed graduates.’
Rick cocked his head to the side. ‘Maybe.’
‘Mind you, this old plodder thought of something else,’ Jon announced, pointing at his computer.
Rick stared at Google’s homepage. ‘You’ve lost me.’
