The truth, p.11
The Truth, page 11
Smith said, ‘I’ve no idea. Why do you see that as a risk?’
‘Because it could antagonise them. Put yourself in their place – that shouldn’t be difficult for you. They track down ‘Robbie’ and discover that a private detective employed by one of their suspects has already questioned him. It’s tantamount to you going through the evidence at a crime scene before they’ve sent in scenes of crime officers. In general, we do better if we do not annoy the police.’
She had a point and he considered it. The room became quiet, and outside in that rather fine garden a blackbird was singing his May song, the sweetest of the year. Then Smith said, ‘I understand. On the other hand, it doesn’t seem to be a very enthusiastic investigation by them so far. I’m not sure it’s in Anthony’s best interests to wait and see if they do get their act together before we start asking questions.’
Archer did not dismiss that idea. After a moment’s thought she said, ‘What do you imagine is going on at Kings Lake Central?’
Ah. It was bugging her a little, after all, what he’d said about the raid at the harbour and the flying visit to Buckden Marine. He risked a half-smile and said, ‘To be honest, I’ve spent the best part of eighteen months trying not to imagine that. Of course, this isn’t the local force – it’s Regional Serious Crimes. From what I’ve been told, it was an hermetically-sealed operation behind locked doors. That’s an awful lot of bother just to arrest a local car salesman.’
She accepted this too, and Smith thought that at this rate, they might be having bacon sandwiches at Micky’s by the summer holidays. She said, ‘What are your thoughts about that, then?’
He said, ‘Half a million pounds’ worth sounds impressive but in the drugs business it’s small change. I’d say what happened at the harbour was a tiny piece in a very large jigsaw. I think arresting Anthony was a sideshow or even a gesture, nothing more.’
The solicitor must have thought back through what he had said. ‘From what you’ve been told? Do you still have contacts at Lake Central?’
Smith said, ‘I still have friends who work there. I’m not sure – in my new role as a private investigator – that I’m going to see them as contacts.’
She understood him, and said, ‘Of course. I wasn’t suggesting anything at all improper. It would simply be useful to know what the likelihood of charges might be. In your new role as a private investigator, do you have any other lines of inquiry in mind?’
This was a turnaround indeed, and she was sounding quite civil now.
He said, ‘Obviously, Serious Crimes know who owns the other ninety per cent of the Galene – assuming there is just one other owner. I’d like to know whether they have spoken to this Mr Othonos. Logically, he should have been pulled in and questioned as well. If he hasn’t, I’d say that’s significant.’
Christine Archer said, ‘I agree – that would have some bearing on whether Anthony is likely to be charged, and on what sort of defence we might mount. But I don’t see how we can find out.’
Smith shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘I thought I could just ask him.’
‘Mr Othonos?’
‘Yes.’
She was taking her time again, looking directly at Smith before saying, ‘You mean confront him in person?’
He said, ‘Well, I don’t have his email address. I suppose Anthony must have a mobile number, so I could send him a text…’
Smith realised then that she was reading him pretty well already. She deliberated before responding with, ‘Confronting Mr Othonos in person is not a course of action that Fraser and Metcalfe could be seen to be condoning.’
And that’s what you’re paying for in the end – that extra little bit of cleverness with words. Smith acknowledged it and the fact that, unlikely though it would have seemed twenty minutes earlier, the two of them had an understanding. Archer walked with him to the door but before opening it she said, ‘What is the arrangement? Are you reporting your findings to Diver and Diver or directly to us?’
He said, ‘I’m updating Jason most days but that’s because I’m the trainee. Otherwise they’ve left me a free hand. It would make more sense for me to let your young lady know if there are any significant developments.’
He had considered asking for Archer’s personal number and decided against it – she might think he was being a little forward. She didn’t tell him not to leave a message with Annie, so that was sorted, too. Charlie and Anthony were waiting in the reception area at the end of the hallway. Christine Archer said her formal goodbye, and then the three men made their way out into the sunshine. On the steps, Charlie turned to Smith and said, ‘All right? I thought it was getting a bit tense in there, DC.’
He stopped himself saying ‘Absolutely’, contenting himself with, ‘Yes, Charlie. It’s fine. I don’t think you could have found a better solicitor anywhere in the county.’
Chapter Twelve
Floyd flipped three burgers in succession on the griddle – he did it with a practised hand and an absent eye because he was watching the man who had taken a seat by the window ten minutes ago. A big man who had ordered a mug of tea – strong, two sugars – with very few words and with whom Floyd hadn’t attempted to pass the time of day. Reading people is a big part of the job in the hospitality business, and anyway, Floyd already knew he was a copper, remembered him even though it must be a couple of years since he last saw him here in the Tuck Stop.
Floyd’s gaze wandered over the other customers. It was busy enough for a late Tuesday morning – the lunchtime rush was still an hour away – but among the other drivers, most of whom were regulars, he couldn’t make out who the policeman might be interested in. Not that you can always tell the villains but the copper wasn’t looking at anyone in particular. He seemed preoccupied with the car park on the other side of the huge plate-glass window.
The burgers were done. He announced the fact to his son, a chip off the old block which had somehow outgrown the old block in the past twelve months, and watched as the flattened discs of ground prime beef and onion were melded with fried eggs, fried chips, fried tomatoes, fried mushrooms and baked beans to produce a plateful of the best value food in all of Kings Lake. Floyd took pride in his work and the service offered here – you can’t drive a forty-tonner from Harwich to Glasgow on any of that vegan nonsense.
He’s waiting for someone, that plain-clothes copper. Floyd didn’t mind a police presence. It was handy having a contact with law enforcement, a two-way street because it’s surprising how much talk there is in here, the things you overhear and the things your regulars tell you about the iffy loads that travel up and down the by-pass. You keep most of it to yourself, of course, but sometimes you mention things, like that people-smuggling a few years ago. Not acceptable, women and kids locked in containers in his own car park. He got that sorted. Had a word with the regular detective sergeant who used to drop in about once a month, but Floyd hadn’t seen him in a long while. Perhaps they get posted around like soldiers. Perhaps he got promoted, perhaps he retired. Shame. He was a useful bloke to know.
John Murray looked at his watch and then took another mouthful of the tea. He’d arrived early and there were still six minutes to go. If the person he had arranged to meet was late, he’d be surprised. On the table behind him, three men were discussing whether it was true you could interfere with a digital tachograph using a magnet; it sounded unlikely to Murray, and thankfully none of the characters involved in the conversation had admitted to trying it out.
The thought occurred to him that he didn’t know what sort of car he was watching for out there in the car park. He did know it wasn’t an old Peugeot. And the arrangement had definitely been to meet inside, so he wouldn’t be out there waiting, would he? Murray dismissed the idea. The food smelled good, and that wasn’t so easy to put to the back of his mind – Maggie had been on a healthy-eating campaign for the past month which meant every item over there on the chalkboard menu was forbidden, save for the tea and coffee. The two sugars were a small oversight on his part. His wife hadn’t worked as a detective for some years now but she kept herself sharp by investigating her husband’s diet, it seemed. When the three platefuls of fried food passed by and landed on the tachographers’ table behind him, the hunger pangs were painful and he had to look away, out at the car park where a smart-looking, dark blue Volvo XC60 was just pulling in.
Murray watched DC get out, lock the door electronically with the fob and then check it by hand anyway. Smith set off towards the café’s entrance, giving no sign he had noticed Murray watching but once inside, he knew immediately where to look. He lifted a hand and then pointed towards the counter, eyebrows raised, asking the question.
Murray nodded and DC continued towards the till – Floyd had come out of his kitchen to take this order himself, and the surprise was still in his voice when he said, ‘’S funny. I was just thinking about you.’
‘And if I could say the same, it would be quite romantic. But I was thinking about your full English breakfast. Hello, Floyd. How are you?’
‘All right, Sergeant. Yourself?’
Smith had held out his hand, and the café’s owner reciprocated.
Smith said, ‘Sergeant no longer, Floyd. Plain old mister these days.’
Floyd looked over towards Murray and said, ‘Still keeping in touch, though…’
‘Yes, just catching up. We’re not here on official business. We’ll have two mugs of tea. No sugar in mine and three in his, if you don’t mind.’
Floyd said, ‘He only had two sugars last time.’
A look of concern appeared on Smith’s face.
‘Really? He must have made a mistake. Make it three this time, Floyd.’
‘Whatever you say, sergeant. I’ll bring ’em over.’
Smith said, ‘Thank you, Floyd. Family all right? I can see your youngest is thriving.’
Floyd looked at his son, who had taken his place in the kitchen and said, ‘Thriving a bit too much, Sergeant. One of the perils of our profession.’
Floyd patted his own impressive girth, and Smith said everyone had to make a sacrifice of some sort if they were to fulfil their destiny in this world.
When he reached the table, Murray got up and they shook hands. They had spoken on the phone but it had been some months since they had met in person – last Christmas, in fact. As he sat down, Smith said, ‘Blimey, John – this takes me back. Do you still drop in here, when you’re doing the rounds?’
Murray shook his head.
‘Not like we used to, DC. The job’s changed. Being in the new squad, we only get one sort of case, and Floyd runs a tight ship. Nobody’s been done in around here yet.’
Smith considered this news and then said, ‘What about the high cholesterol? There could be a manslaughter charge in it somewhere,’ and Murray smiled, took a first mouthful of the second mug of tea, which Floyd had just put in front of him, and said it tasted better than the first one.
They exchanged family news. William David was growing out of his clothes every few days, Murray said, and Smith had to show the short video of his Irish grandson coming down a slide head first. Children, Murray said, and Smith said yes, children…
The silence ended when he added, ‘And Waters might be next, if he’s not careful, John. Have you met Miriam?’
Yes, said Murray, she’s a lovely girl, and then Smith talked about the visits the two young people in question had made to Drift’s End. Murray said, ‘We don’t socialise as much these days, DC. I mean in the squad. It’s a different sort of team. I don’t mean that as a criticism of anyone. Freeman’s a good boss but it’s not like the old days.’
Smith said, ‘Well, she gets results, John. And I hear good things about the DI as well.’
Murray said, ‘Tom Greene? He’s a piece of work, DC. You’d like him.’
There’s always a moment when you cannot help thinking, yes, if I’d agreed to join that team when Freeman asked me, things would have turned out differently. I might still have been a detective sergeant. I’d have been involved in those cases Waters has told me about. I could have… I could have still been living on the Millfield estate, still been reading the Sunday Telegraph alone, still been playing the old songs in the evenings to an audience of memories.
Murray said, ‘So, how’s Charlie doing?’
This was the reason they were here, and Smith reminded himself that while he was at liberty to sit and chat, Murray was not. He said, ‘Holding up. They’ve got past the immediate catastrophe. Things have calmed down and now they’re trying to find their way out. When I called you this morning, John, I wasn’t asking for any inside information on the case. I wasn’t expecting you to come out and meet me, and I don’t want anyone putting their neck on the block. Neither would Charlie.’
The final three sentences sounded rather definite, like a formal statement, as if they had been prepared in advance of this meeting, and, of course, they had. Murray said, ‘It’s not a problem, DC. Like I said, Freeman’s a good boss. Once she knows you, you can come and go if there’s nothing that needs your presence in the office. And there’s no risk of me giving you inside gen because I haven’t got any.’
Over Murray’s broad shoulders, Smith watched a huge articulated lorry pull into the car park – it was left-hand drive and had Dutch markings; almost certainly carrying hundreds of crates of fresh vegetables and flowers to some northern wholesale market. Through its windscreen, he could make out the driver, a mobile phone in one hand while he expertly reversed and parked the trailer with the other. This held his attention for long enough to make Murray half turn to see what was happening.
Eventually Smith said, ‘And that’s because it was run by Serious Crimes?’
Murray turned back and nodded. Smith went on, ‘How long were they in Central, in the actual building, John?’
‘I can’t say for certain, DC, but they were gone by close of play on the Wednesday. I wasn’t on duty the weekend before but I know they arrived on the Sunday.’
Smith said, ‘Less than seventy-two hours. In, set up an office, seize the stash on Sunday evening, arrest Anthony Hills on Monday morning. They get a twelve-hour extension and then release him without charge but – we assume – still under investigation.’
John Murray waited and watched his former sergeant at work – something he had not expected to see again.
Smith said, ‘And guess who is Anthony’s solicitor – Christine Archer. I had a meeting with her this morning, and even she can’t get a word out of Regional. As Charlie poetically put it, the whole thing is tighter than a duck’s backside.’
Murray said, ‘You’re working with Christine Archer? How did that go?’
Smith said airily, ‘Oh, we reminisced, John. Chatted over old times, you know how it is…’
He was still thinking it through as he joked and held a conversation – Murray waited for the next question. There would without a doubt be more.
‘Remember when we found Tina Fellowes and Cameron Routh?’
Murray’s big right hand went involuntarily to his left side as he said, ‘Not likely to forget that one, DC.’
Smith winced but said, ‘All right, John. No need to bang on about it…’ and Murray laughed. A couple of inches from dead, the surgeon had said to Smith as he waited for news in Lake General that day. Smith continued, ‘And that same afternoon Regional boarded the ship in The Wash off Lake harbour. I was talking to a security guard down there a few days ago, and he remembered all that. The point is, RSCU were not telling us much then either, but they clearly had a major operation ongoing. Some seriously big serious crime. I’m wondering if this is connected to all that. Ordinary mortals think of cases in weeks and months, but the Commander Alexanders of this world are playing the long game.’
Smith appeared to be thinking aloud, nothing more, but there was an opportunity for Murray to comment, should he wish to do so. He said, ‘I’m not giving anything away, DC, if I tell you that when we were working on the homeless bloke who was stabbed on Eden Street, Freeman got involved with Regional. It was mistaken identity – I’m sure you already know that. The veteran they thought they were taking out had been involved with something heavy in Norwich.’
Smith said, ‘Michael Wortley. That’s who Brother Joe called me about,’ and Murray said, ‘It was you he spoke to first? We never knew for certain.’
It was a tiny slip but something he need not have given away, and there was on Smith’s face the merest hint that he was annoyed with himself for making it. Then he said, ‘Freeman had trouble with Regional? Why?’
Murray answered, ‘Wortley gave her a name for the stabbing. Regional tried to stop her going for it, said it could prejudice a long-running investigation. She outsmarted them somehow but she got her knuckles rapped.’
Smith said, ‘Good for her.’
‘She’s a bit odd, DC, but if you’ve been a bad boy, you wouldn’t want her to be the one coming after you.’
Smith’s attention was back on the lorry for some reason, but he said to Murray, ‘And she can build a team. That’s obvious.’
Murray didn’t respond to that, but after another moment said, ‘The only other thing I can tell you about Regional’s flying visit last week is this, DC. It was as tight as Charlie said, and no Central people were involved in the operation. But Denise Sterling did see one person coming out of there.’
Smith said, ‘Sterling? Is she the DS they brought across from Great Yarmouth?’
Murray wasn’t surprised Smith seemed well-informed about the murder squad’s personnel. He said, ‘Yes. She’s a good hand. Anyway, she happened to be crossing a corridor and saw someone from Central slipping out of Regional’s temporary office. Denise said this person looked a bit furtive…’
The driver was getting out of the cab, stretching but still on the mobile phone. He looked young to be in charge of such a rig, but had probably driven the thing all over Europe. Murray was waiting for Smith to suggest a name. Eventually he did.
