by Adam Croft
‘Guv, we just had an interesting call come through on the main switchboard. A guy asking to speak to the senior investigating officer looking into the Freddie Galloway case. His words, not mine. He says he’s got some information that could help.’
‘Right. What’s his name?’
‘He wouldn’t say.’
Culverhouse blinked a few times. Time wasters were common on major investigations, but they usually got weeded out at the first line of defence. ‘What do you mean he wouldn’t say?’
‘He said he wants to meet you anonymously in a café in town. Just my own personal hunch here, but I reckon someone’s leaning on him. He sounded more afraid of giving too much away than anything, but seemed keen to talk.’
Culverhouse mulled this over for a minute. If the guy wanted to meet in a café, it was unlikely to be an ambush. At the worst, it could just be a timewaster.
‘When does he want to meet?’
‘Now. He’s on his way to Café Fresco. Said he’ll wait there an hour or so. He sounded like he was pretty desperate to speak to someone.’
Culverhouse looked at his watch. He could be there in ten or fifteen minutes.
‘Right. Okay then. How am I meant to know who I’m meeting, though?’
‘Uh, good point,’ Frank said. ‘He sounded black, if that helps.’
Culverhouse closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘Yeah. Thanks Frank. Thanks a bunch.’
28
They’d arranged for Wendy to go into the coffee shop a minute or so ahead of Jack, and to grab a drink and sit at another table — just in case. As Culverhouse entered the café, he noticed the only black man in the room was sitting towards the back, looking nervous.
He strode over and stopped at the table. ‘You my date for the evening?’
‘If you’re the guy in charge, yeah,’ the man said, standing up to shake his hand.
‘Jack Culverhouse.’
‘Uh, Ty.’
‘Ty? What’s that short for? Bear in mind I’m going to need to know your full name at some point anyway.’
The man sat back down and wrung his hands. Culverhouse sat down opposite him.
‘Do you want a coffee or something?’ Tyrone asked.
‘Nope.’
‘What about tea?’
‘No. I don’t want anything other than for you to tell me what this is about.’
Tyrone nodded. ‘Right. I just dunno where to start, you know? It ain’t easy. All I know is something ain’t right.’
Culverhouse rolled his eyes. ‘Lots of things “ain’t right”. It “ain’t right” that there’s war and suffering in the world. It “ain’t right” that I can’t get the foil lid off a Pot Noodle without leaving a little bit stuck the rim. It “ain’t right” that I’m sitting here when I should be busy running a major investigation.’
‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,’ Tyrone said, leaning forward.
‘Go on.’
Tyrone took a deep breath before speaking. ‘I know someone torched Freddie Galloway’s place and I know the sorts of people he got involved with. Listen. If I can help you, the only way I can do that is if I admit to some bad stuff. Stuff I’ve put a long way behind me. I don’t wanna end up being questioned or charged or anything.’
‘What sort of “stuff” are we talking about?’ Culverhouse asked, keen not to commit to anything.
‘Not as bad as torching a bloke’s house and killing him, if that’s what you mean.’
Culverhouse sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. ‘Listen, if you’ve got information that you think might help, it’d be a good idea to tell me. If it’s information that could change the investigation, and you don’t tell me, you could be perverting the course of justice.’
‘I know... It just ain’t that easy. I’m exposed big time here.’
Culverhouse rolled his eyes again. ‘Alright. Let’s look at this from another angle. What would you say if this wasn’t you sitting here, but a friend of yours? Say that friend had information that could help.’
‘He should help,’ Tyrone said. ‘It’d be the right thing to do.’
‘Well there you go, then.’
‘But it ain’t easy for him, y’know?’
‘Yeah, I know. You’ve told me three times. What do you reckon the bad stuff is that this... mate... of yours might not want to admit to?’
Tyrone shuffled uncomfortable in his seat. ‘You wired?’
‘No. Pat me down if you like.’
Tyrone thought for a moment, then shook his head. ‘Let’s say, this friend of mine, maybe, like, he was involved in a gang that did an armed robbery or something.’
‘Something like... Oh, let’s just pick one at random, shall we? Like Trenton-Lowe, for example?’
Tyrone looked down at his hands. ‘Yeah. Like that one.’
Culverhouse nodded. ‘Then I’d tell your friend that first of all he’s a fucking idiot for inviting a police officer to a meeting to admit to being involved with shooting a police officer in the face. And second of all,’ he said, noticing the worried look on Tyrone’s face, ‘I’d point out that it’s a case that closed years ago and that time has been served. Most importantly, by the shooter. Then I’d ask him if people were leaning on him and making it awkward for him to talk.’
‘Yeah. You got it in one,’ Tyrone replied.
‘And I’d ask him if one of those people might have died recently. In a fire, perhaps.’
Tyrone didn’t reply, but Culverhouse could see from the look on his face that he was spot on.
‘That’s not all, though, is it?’ Culverhouse asked.
Tyrone clenched his jaw and shut his eyes, before taking a deep breath. ‘Fuck’s sake, I shouldn’t be talking about any of this. It’s not something I’ve ever told anyone. Listen, all these years it’s been fine. We had a vow of silence, no-one broke it, no-one got hurt. I kept up my end of the bargain. I never spoke to no-one about nothing. But someone’s started threatening me.’
‘Someone involved in the Trenton-Lowe job?’
‘I dunno. Yeah, I think so. I think it’s all connected, but I dunno how. I just get a vibe, y’know? Listen, you know John Lucas got out of prison, right? The day Freddie Galloway’s house gets burned down. That ain’t right, is it? That weren’t him. I can guarantee it.’
‘So what are you saying? You know who it was?’
‘I think so, yeah. There was only four of us involved.’
Culverhouse tried to work it out in his head. ‘You, John Lucas, Freddie Galloway and Benjamin Newell?’
‘Yeah. He got sent down for a little while but not as long as Lucas. Lucas totally took the rap ‘cos he pulled the trigger. That night, Lucas and Newell left by the front entrance, where we came in. Me and Freddie went out the back. The whole thing was Freddie’s idea, he had the inside contact. He put the team together. Me and Freddie got away from there. Never identified, nothing. No-one ever blabbed. But Lucas took the rap, right? So I totally get that he’d want to get even. It makes sense for him to want to torch Freddie Galloway’s place and probably to come after me next.’
‘But you don’t think he did?’
Tyrone shook his head. ‘Nah. Doesn’t feel right. But Benjamin Newell got fucked over too that night. He got caught while me and Freddie escaped out the back. And the reason he got caught was because Lucas fired that fucking gun. If they’d got out of there earlier, or gone another way or whatever... Well, y’know. They wouldn’t have been caught. And even if they were, Newell wouldn’t have got the sentence he did if Lucas hadn’t shot the cop.’
‘So what you’re saying is—’
‘What I’m saying is John Lucas weren’t the only one who could’ve held a grudge. Newell had three people to get back at. And wouldn’t it be perfect if he’d not only managed to get away with popping Freddie off but managed to pin it on Lucas too? Two for the price of one. Worth waiting eleven years for, don’t you reckon?’
Culverhouse had to admit
that it might well be. It was starting to sound like a solid theory. ‘In that case, how’s he going to get back at you?’ he asked Tyrone.
‘Yeah. That’s what I’m worried about.’
29
Culverhouse strode back into the incident room with the intention of grabbing a mug of coffee and sitting in his office with his eyes shut for a few minutes. The Freddie Galloway case was tying him in knots, and he and his team would have no way of knowing who was telling the truth and who was bound by a veil of silence imposed on them by career criminals.
He was half tempted to wind the whole investigation down. After all, a major criminal — one they’d never managed to convict — was dead. Justice had been done in its own twisted way.
He didn’t even get as far as the coffee machine, though, before Wendy stopped him in his tracks.
‘Call from above, I’m afraid.’
Culverhouse rolled his eyes and sighed. Although he was fortunate that the Chief Constable, Charles Hawes, was generally very supportive of him, the boss was always acutely aware of the public perception of the local police force. More than that, he had to maintain a positive image of Mildenheath Police and its CID department to avoid it being subsumed into county headquarters at Milton House — the only town CID department that hadn’t been. Having Mildenheath CID moved to Milton House would mean being tied up in the bureaucracy that came with it — something Hawes did his level best to avoid at all times. That was why he’d retained an office at Mildenheath and preferred to base himself there as opposed to county headquarters.
‘It’s day two. What’s he sticking his beak in for already?’ Culverhouse asked, not expecting an answer. Regardless, he poured himself a mug of black coffee from the machine and made his way up the stairs to the Chief Constable’s office. When he got there, he knocked on the door and waited for Hawes to invite him in.
‘Jack.’
‘You wanted a word with me, sir.’
‘Yes, Jack. Sit down.’
Culverhouse tried not to look annoyed. The Chief Constable had a reputation for lecturing him and thinking that just asking for results would make them happen quicker. Of course, Culverhouse knew that results would happen when they happened, and not because the Chief Constable had asked for them.
‘I just wanted to see where we are with the arson and death in Little Walgrave. Are you treating it as murder?’
‘We’re still looking into it, sir. We don’t have a full awareness of what happened or whether the arsonist deliberately tried to kill the victim.’
‘They burnt his house down in the middle of the night, Jack. They knew he’d be tucked up in bed. How can you judge it to be anything but murder?’
Culverhouse desperately wanted to tell the Chief Constable to stop interfering, but he didn’t.
‘Truth is, Jack, I’d prefer it not to be a murder. All Chief Constables would, I’m sure. Doesn’t look good for the county figures.’
Culverhouse knew that wasn’t true. Another murder in the Mildenheath area meant there was even more justification for keeping the CID department open, and ensuring he stayed twenty miles away from the office managers and pen pushers at Milton House.
‘We’re doing our best, sir. We’ve got a list of suspects and we’ve already had one in for questioning.’
‘So I hear,’ the Chief Constable said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his hands. ‘John Lucas, wasn’t it? The same John Lucas who got out of prison a few hours earlier.’ Hawes’s voice rose in both volume and intonation. ‘It makes a mockery of justice if he’s been allowed to do that. I mean, what’s the bloody point? We know a large percentage of prisoners go on to reoffend, but what the hell’s going on if a man can get out of prison after eleven years and burn someone’s bloody house down the same day?’
‘I agree, sir,’ Culverhouse said. ‘But there’s not a whole lot we can do about it. It’s down to the prison service when someone is released and to keep an eye on their probation.’
‘We have a responsibility, Jack. In the public’s eyes if nothing else. And how the hell can the prison officers not spot that the guy’s still holding a massive grudge? Don’t the parole board look for those sorts of things?’
‘With respect, sir, we don’t know that it is John Lucas. There are other suspects and information pointing to other people.’
‘What, better information than finding half the tools at his bloody house?’
Culverhouse had to admit that it didn’t look good on that front. The evidence pointing to John Lucas seemed overwhelming — almost too overwhelming. ‘To be fair, sir, it’s not up to us to babysit John Lucas. The police’s job ended years ago when they secured a conviction.’
‘That’s not the point, Jack. We should have been all over this. Someone should have been.’
‘What do you propose then?’ Culverhouse replied, trying not to lose his temper. ‘Undercover officers watching every scrote who’s released from prison? We’re stretched to the limit as it is and budgets are being cut even more. We haven’t even got enough money to stock the toilets with bog roll. My team’s short staffed already, and now DS Knight wants to piss off for the day to do her exams. I’m sorry, sir, but it’s just not on. I’m not taking the rap for this one.’
Hawes ignored Culverhouse’s anger. ‘How is she doing? DS Knight, I mean. With her exam prep.’
‘I dunno. Alright, I think.’
‘She’d make a good inspector, you know.’
‘Yes, I know. That’s why I suggested she take the exams in the first place.’
‘But now you’re not so sure?’
Culverhouse sighed. ‘I am sure, yes. But the timing is fucking dreadful, pardon my French. DC Weston’s away for the foreseeable future and we were short-staffed enough before that.’
‘It’s one day, Jack.’ Hawes said.
‘Plus all the time she’d have to spend revising beforehand. It’d distract from her work here. We can’t afford that at the moment.’
Hawes leaned forward and spoke quietly. ‘You need to allow her to do it, Jack. For the sake of her career. We’ll manage.’
‘No. Sorry,’ Culverhouse replied, folding his arms. ‘I’m not compromising this investigation. Especially seeing as that’s the whole reason you invited me here, to tell me we need to do more.’
‘We can always do more, Jack. Especially in the eyes of the public. You know that. Would it help to have a meeting with the senior investigating officer who covered the Trenton-Lowe robbery?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Culverhouse replied, perhaps a little too quickly. The SIO on that case had been Malcolm Pope, then a Detective Inspector, now a DCI stationed at Milton House, who Culverhouse — and most of the rest of the CID unit — despised. His polished, shiny exterior was just a smokescreen for his very average success rate and revolting personality. The bosses, though, loved him and couldn’t see past his golden boy image.
‘I thought you might say that. He’ll try and get involved, though, you know. He still sees this as his case.’
‘Yeah, well he can piss off. He’s not coming anywhere near it.’
Hawes nodded slowly. ‘Then you know what you need to do, Jack.’
30
After meeting DCI Culverhouse, Tyrone had milled around in town for a bit longer to run some errands. He’d picked up some bits for dinner, bought a new tea towel to replace the yellowing once-white one in the kitchen in the flat and finally had the cracked screen on his mobile phone replaced.
He was still a little shaken after his chat with Culverhouse, so returning to the normal boring routine had helped him to keep calm and forget the threatening note he’d received earlier that day.
He hadn’t told Culverhouse about the note. He didn’t see how it was relevant, although deep down he knew it all had to be connected somehow. His life up until the last couple of days had been relatively quiet for years. What were the odds of someone finding out about his visits to Lenny within hours of John Lucas getting out
of jail and Freddie Galloway being killed? Tyrone was no mathematician, but he didn’t fancy those odds. He knew what those sorts of people were like.
The weather was looking good, so he decided that rather than sit on a stuffy bus all the way back home, he’d walk some of the way back and catch another bus further along the way once he’d had enough of walking.
He was about to turn off the main road past the industrial estate and walk up Edgefield Avenue when his phone pinged in his headphones, the sound of a text message coming through, interrupting the new Stormzy album. He took his phone out of his pocket and read the message.
A dirty fuckin poof n a grass! U no wot happens wen u chat 2 law
He didn’t recognise the number, but he didn’t need to. He had his suspicions. He looked behind him, back towards the main road. Whoever had sent this message knew he had met Jack Culverhouse earlier that day, so there was every chance they could be watching him now. There was no-one behind him, though, so he quickened his pace and decided to take a shortcut across Edgefield Park rather than walking around the footpath outside the perimeter.
As he walked across the grass, he thought he heard a sound behind him. He turned round, but again saw nothing. Again, he quickened his pace, the gate on the far side of the park now in sight.
He estimated he was probably now about fifty metres from the gate, then it was another fifty metres or so down the road until he’d be back on another main road, where there’d be plenty of witnesses and CCTV. Then he’d be almost home and dry.
He knew he shouldn’t have come out today. Not while he was feeling like this, like he had to watch over his shoulder at every moment. Ever since Headache had been released from prison, he knew things were going to be different. He knew he was always going to be warier, that things weren’t the way they had been for the past few years. There was stability, a sense that things were in the past and were staying there. Until they inevitably all got dragged up again, that was.
