Cath Staincliffe: Hit and Run

‘Maybe-’

‘Oh, Tom!’ He’d knocked his drink over the table. Janine dived for a cloth.

‘Wasn’t me, it was Frank.’ Tom said quickly.

She mopped at the pool.

‘Wait,’ she said to Richard, trying to follow her train of thought. ‘All that stuff about giving Stone and Gleason a lift over the Channel – does that sound likely? Mr Big turned taxi driver.’

‘But he wasn’t going to drive them anywhere – it was an ambush; we know that. Wanted them dead.’

‘Why kill them himself?’

There was a pause. ‘Enhance his reputation,’ he suggested.

‘He wasn’t usually hands on.’ Janine rubbed at her forehead; there was something missing, just out of grasp, tucked away in her mind.

Janine stared at Tom sitting beside the imaginary Frank, sharing out raisins. Wasn’t me, it was Frank. Shifting the blame. Just like Harper who had blamed everything on Sulikov. A chill washed through Janine and her heart began to hammer. Harper, Sulikov. Could she be right? ‘Oh, God!’ she said urgently. ‘Richard, the photo of Sulikov. Has it arrived?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Get onto Poland and tell them to email it to me immediately – here. And double check Harper’s ID.’

She paced up and down waiting for the message to come through, her guts knotted, her face feeling aflame.

The familiar tone sounded. You have mail. One message and an attachment. She clicked on the message and watched it open. Richard was still on the line, watching at his end.

‘Got it,’ Janine said, her eyes racing over the text as she read it aloud. ‘Says Konrad Sulikov was born here. English mother, Polish father, moved there aged seven. Current whereabouts not known. Surveillance operation launched last year in connection with trafficking but we believe Sulikov was alerted to this and is in hiding. Photograph attached, jpeg file.’

Her fingers were trembling, her heart burning as she clicked the attachment. The customary warning came on: what would you like to do with this file? Janine selected open it. The loading bar appeared, a flash of blue as it processed the file and then the pixels filled the screen. A face. His face. Janine’s eyes scurried over the features; she forced herself to slow down, look steadily and make sure: the long, bony nose, the slightly mismatched eyes, the chiselled cheekbone and dimpled jaw of James Harper. A few years younger, with a lower hairline, but unmistakeably the same man.

She heard exclamations from Richard’s end, joined in with her own. ‘Shit! The cheeky bugger. Konrad Sulikov otherwise known as James Harper.’ And they’d released him! On bail, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he’d make a run for it.

‘Airports!’ she instructed Richard. ‘Check the passenger manifests.’

‘His house?’

‘Send someone round, just to cover our backs, he won’t be there. Get a technician too – I bet that’s our scene. Come and get me.’ She rang off. She kissed Tom’s hair and told him to be good for Michael. She snapped shut the poppers on Charlotte’s babygro, scooped her up and took her into the back room where Michael was enjoying a game on the Xbox. ‘You have to watch her.’

‘Mum!’ He protested but he held his arms out anyway and Charlotte gave a little shriek of glee.

‘I’ve got my phone,’ she called as she pulled open the door, ‘send Tom up in half an hour.’

Richard reached her in record time.

Shap had just treated himself to a cold Guinness when his phone went.

‘He’s not going to show,’ Butchers told him.

‘How come?’

‘He’s the invisible man.’

‘If this is some sort of wind-up…’

‘It isn’t. We’re on our way to his place now. Boss wants you there pronto.’

‘Poland?’ Shap grabbed his glass and necked the top third.

‘Harper’s.’

‘You what?’

‘Now.’ Butchers cut him off.

Shap took to his feet and raced out of the building. Behind him the receptionist frowned in consternation. She was sure she hadn’t missed Mr Sulikov.

‘The date of birth he gave us,’ Richard said as she climbed into the car, ‘you were right. That James William Harper died aged five, back in 1967.’

‘Stolen identity. So Harper was just a cover for Sulikov all along. When things got hairy in Poland he comes over here and lives as Harper for the duration.’

‘They’re checking the airports now. Promised me it wouldn’t take long.’

At Harper’s house the officers who gained entry found the place deserted. The luminal light the technician carried showed extensive blood traces on the garage floor.

Janine stabbed at her phone when it rang. ‘Konrad Sulikov is listed on the last flight from Manchester to Berlin. Departing twenty-one ten,’ the voice on the other end informed her.

Janine checked her watch. It was five to. Her heart sank; no way would they make it. Sulikov would be seated by now. They’d be waiting for clearance to take off. ‘But there’s a delay,’ the voice continued, ‘one of the earlier flights had to be grounded and it’s had a knock-on effect.’

‘Yes! How long?’ Janine swore as Richard took a corner far too fast.

‘They’ve only just called them for boarding.’

She turned to Richard: ‘Terminal One.’ He nodded and increased his speed, the blues and twos, lights and siren, signalling their urgency to the rest of the traffic on the motorway.

She dialled Butchers. ‘Terminal One, Berlin flight. Shap with you?’

‘Just got here.’

‘Good. Alert Airport Police, he’s travelling as Konrad Sulikov, but tell them I want to handle this one personally,’ she ended the call.

Janine thought for a moment. ‘Everyone dealt with Harper,’ she began. ‘Sulikov was there in the background, the big bogey man. Marta, the others, they knew of his reputation – you saw what they were like when his name came up, but it was all hearsay, whispers. Talked up by Harper. No one here ever met Sulikov. Hang on,’ there was a flaw in the argument, ‘Stone saw Sulikov shoot Gleason.’

‘No, no,’ Richard argued, ‘he couldn’t see! It was dark; they were ambushed. Stone saw Gleason fall and he scarpered. He expected it to be Sulikov because they’d spoken on the phone.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Stone told me he occasionally got calls from Sulikov, fetch this, carry that. They had no need to meet and Stone assumed Sulikov was in Poland, like we did. Then he gets the call offering the pair of them easy passage across the Channel. Sulikov just happens to be in Manchester.’

‘Very convenient.’

Richard increased his speed as they reached the motorway and moved into the outside lane.

‘Harper’s the good bloke,’ Janine mused, ‘fair bloke, looks out for the girls whereas Sulikov is the ruthless boss, whose reputation goes before him. Lots of gangsters use different names, half-a-dozen passports; but he took it much further. He created Harper as an alternative identity, an insurance policy. He might not need to use it but last year, when they started looking into his people trafficking in Poland, Sulikov goes to ground and Harper comes to life.’

‘An exit strategy,’ Richard said.

Janine laughed at the jargon. ‘Presumably he can switch his accent on and off to suit the occasion, he’s bi-lingual,’ she said. ‘So as Harper he killed Rosa at his place. She’s about to run off, she’s pregnant, wants out.’

‘Maybe she threatens to blow the gaffe about everything, the brothel, the trafficking, the lot,’ Richard suggested.

‘Yes, I don’t think he planned it, though. It was all too messy. If he’d wanted her removed, he’d have organised a contract killing or something that left him unsullied. It’s more likely that they argued, Harper loses it, and flips. He strangles her. Then he has a body on his hands. He’s got to hide his tracks. He messes her face up, removes the tattoo…’ Janine’s stomach turned at the thought of Harper hitting Rosa’s face, desperately trying to obliterate her, ‘… parcels her up, weights and all. Then, as Sulikov, he rings Stone.’