Nick Oldham - Dead Heat

Satisfying FB took a long time. He put Henry through the wringer. If it had not been for the fact that breakfast hadn’t arrived, Henry would have made his excuses and left. As it was, he was hungry.

‘It’s simply this, and this is my final word on the subject: I was bored shitless. I got asked to do something that sounded half-interesting to pass some time and I ended up getting involved in something I didn’t know existed.’ He looked at Donaldson. ‘And I suspect your presence here means there’s something big to this.’

Donaldson’s face could not be read.

FB glanced at the American. It was only the sliver of a look, but Henry caught it — just. FB had known Donaldson as long as Henry, all having met on the occasion when Donaldson was investigating American mob activity in the north-west of England. Donaldson had never shown much respect for FB, and their relationship was, to say the least, icy. From the look FB, just gave him, Henry guessed this was still the case.

‘I just want to know, Henry,’ FB said, ‘if you are involved in any way with the Wickson family. That’s what this is about.’

‘As I said, only in as much as my daughter knows their daughter from riding lessons and that is all.’ Henry held up his hands in defeat.

‘OK, I’ll accept that,’ said FB magnanimously.

A waiter appeared from the kitchen bearing a tray with several meals on. ‘Order six,’ he called.

‘That’s us,’ FB hollered.

The food was duly delivered. Once the waiter had gone, FB said to Donaldson, ‘Over to you, Yank.’

All eyes alighted on him.

Henry felt someone’s foot touch him under the table. He knew it was Jane’s, but he did not flinch.

‘It’s complex.’

‘Keep it simple, then,’ FB suggested.

Donaldson took a ruminative second and Henry thought that his fried egg — sunny side up — might just have found its way on to FB’s lap, but his friend’s resilience was grade ‘A’.

‘As you know, the investigation into the death of Zeke, my undercover agent, and Marty Cragg is ongoing. . both men killed by the same guy, the hits ordered by a Spanish criminal called Mendoza.’

Henry knew this. Mendoza was a very big operator in Europe. He had a finger in many pies: drugs, prostitution, blackmail, illegal immigrants. . just to highlight a few of his speciality areas. Mendoza had strong links with Italian Mafia families and also, by default, to American ones. It was for this reason that Zeke had infiltrated Mendoza’s organization. Unfortunately, like the previous u/c agent before him, his cover had been blown and then his head had been blown off. Both agents had been murdered by the same hit man, using the same weapon.

Yes, Henry knew all this. Even so, he listened with interest, waiting for the Wickson connection.

‘Obviously I’ve been unwilling to put another undercover agent into Mendoza’s set-up. He’s been bitten twice already and I would only be putting a third guy into danger, so it’s a no-go. Instead we’ve spent time on intelligence, human sources and surveillance. It’s a slow process, as you know.’

Henry nodded.

‘Mendoza is surveillance-conscious, very, very careful and is not a man of habit.’

Henry nodded again, slightly impatiently. Jane’s foot brushed against his again. He drew his legs underneath his chair, out of reach, he hoped. Or maybe it was touch by accident and his arrogance — believing that she was still in love with him — was once again surfacing.

‘John Lloyd Wickson is a multi-millionaire,’ said Donaldson. ‘Self-made, ruthless, always operating on the edge of what he does-’

‘And he’s not got a red cent,’ FB interrupted. Henry had seen that the head of Lancashire’s finest had been itching to butt in.

‘Exactly,’ Donaldson confirmed, ‘he’s completely broke.’

‘Ahh,’ said Henry. ‘Interesting. How do you explain the helicopter, farmhouse, cars and all the trappings?’

‘Window dressing,’ Donaldson said.

‘All on the drip,’ Jane said.

FB turned and gave her a disgusted stare as if to say, ‘Shut it, love.’ Jane shifted awkwardly on her seat, her gaze falling to her hands.

‘He’s stretched to his limit,’ Donaldson said. ‘We’ve been into his bank accounts, at least the ones we can find, and they tell a pretty rotten story. Bad management, bad forecasting. . bad everything.’

‘And now he’s in debt to the Mafia?’ Henry ventured.

‘Let him finish before you start drawing conclusions like that,’ FB admonished him.

Henry tapped the table with the end of his fork, wondering if he should plunge it into FB’s heart. If he had one. He speared a sausage instead and kept quiet.

‘He’s got a lot of businesses,’ Donaldson continued. ‘One involving the importation of stone-crushers, which he then assembles, and then sells them or further exports them to Europe. The goods involved originate from a company in the States. We have intelligence to suggest that Wickson has been importing these crushers from the States and is being paid handsomely by the Mafia to provide cover for the importation of drugs into the UK.’

‘Has he any previous criminal history?’ Henry asked.

FB shook his head. ‘Just one assault in his late teens.’

‘So how have the Mafia got their hooks into him?’

‘We’re not altogether sure,’ Donaldson admitted. ‘But it is a well-known fact that la Cosa Nostra, the Mafia to you, are continually on the lookout for business opportunities. . and I say the word “business” loosely. They have people working for them in every conceivable industry or service, feeding information to them. Most of it is never used, but some is.’

‘You believe someone in an American engineering company which makes these crushers has tipped them off about Wickson’s dire financial plight and they’ve muscled in on him?’ Henry worked out.

‘Could be, could be,’ said Donaldson.

‘Where does yesterday’s gunman episode fit into all this?’

‘Not absolutely sure about that one,’ Donaldson admitted.

‘And Mendoza?’

Donaldson’s face creased into a very pained expression. He did not know exactly what to say to Henry.

‘Tell me.’

Donaldson, Jane and FB interchanged looks. FB nodded.

‘OK. Your guys recovered the weaponry belonging to the shooter on the hillside. All very interesting. Two things in particular. Firstly the pistol he used when he kidnapped you. . a STAR make, originating from Spain. Model 30PK, nine millimetre, holds fifteen rounds. The STAR is one of the few decent firearms made in Spain, actually, in an industry that has a pretty bad reputation.’

FB stifled a yawn at all this technical stuff, then inserted a fried tomato into the hole that was his mouth. Donaldson pretended not to notice, going on to say, ‘I’m telling you this because we know what type of weapon was used to kill Zeke and Marty Cragg. A nine millimetre. I fast-tracked the gun through our ballistics department because we couldn’t jump the backlog of yours in Huntingdon. Early tests and comparisons show it is more than likely to be the same weapon used to kill Zeke and Cragg.’

‘You mean I’ve been fighting a professional hit man?’

Donaldson nodded seriously. FB smirked. Jane looked very worried. Henry sat back, not remotely hungry any more. He pushed his plate away, the breakfast only half-eaten.

‘Not want that?’ FB asked in disbelief.

Henry shook his head numbly. ‘Lost my appetite.’

FB helped himself to the last sausage and dipped it in the egg yolk on Henry’s plate before scoffing it.

‘He killed Marty Cragg and I had the bastard. . we had the bastard. . andhe got away. .?’

‘And don’t forget he nailed two good cops before he scarpered,’ FB said through his food. ‘And on my first day as Chief Constable. How do you think that makes me look?’ he demanded. ‘I had to tell their families yesterday. It wasn’t nice. I’ve got the media and the police authority on my back now, pushing for a quick result. It’s shit I could have done without, thank you.’