Nick Oldham - Big City Jacks

Anger was visiting the toilet. Henry and Roscoe were in the room adjoining the one Bignall was in. He was relaxed now that he had got a weight off his chest and he was feeling safe being looked after by trustworthy cops.

Roscoe eyed Henry with some reverence. ‘You done good,’ she admitted grudgingly.

‘Just doing my job, ma’am.’

Roscoe shook her head. ‘Is there anything more to uncover in the Tara Wickson dog’s breakfast, or have I misjudged you?’

‘You decide,’ Henry said.

The toilet flushed and a damp-faced Anger came out, obviously having had a wash. He wiped the palms of his hands down his trouser legs, then looked expectantly at Henry and Roscoe, waiting for something. They looked expectantly back.

With a jerk of his head, he beckoned Henry to follow him to the far end of the room near the window, where he spoke in hushed tones. ‘This is going to be a massive job. Big implications.’

‘Yep,’ Henry agreed.

‘Needs a careful plan.’

‘Yep.’ Henry suddenly realized that Anger was drowning here, did not know what to do.

‘So,’ the superintendent said, ‘what I propose is this: over to you, Henry. It’s your baby, sort it whichever way you want. Hang back for a while, or wade in, whatever you feel is appropriate. Just plan it, justify it and I’ll back you to the hilt.’

Henry’s surprise could not be held back. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely. . you’ve worked hard on this one, you got the break, you get the glory. If you need any authorizations, I’ll sort them. . how does that sound?’

He did not want to dance up and down with glee. Instead he said, ‘Good.’

‘It’s a two-add-two job,’ Henry admitted. ‘I upset Lynch and his mob. . ha, the Lynch mob,’ he chuckled at his own wit, ‘and someone forced me off the road. Coincidence. . don’t think so. . but, the van was a black Citroen, don’t know the number, and it was being driven by a guy in a clown mask. Ring any bells?’ he asked for the second time.

Karl Donaldson did not need to consider. The vivid memories of the M62 robbery were still with him. ‘Same crew,’ the American said. ‘Gotta be.’

‘Or just a coincidence?’

‘Nahh, screw that, definitely same crew,’ Donaldson said. ‘To bring you up to speed, my trustworthy source, Senor Lopez, set Easton up to steal the coke — part of his master plan to cut off Mendoza’s legs. The drugs’ve been bought with borrowed Mafia money, just another nail in the big man’s coffin. His plan is to somehow retrieve the coke and set up his own show. Mendoza has been dealing with Sweetman for a few years, apparently, and all the time Lopez has had his head together with a guy called Grant, one of Sweetman’s top men, with a view to stepping in at some stage, getting rid of Mendoza and running the show.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘Lopez blabbed, thinking I was on my deathbed.’

‘Why didn’t Lopez just kill him, or something? Isn’t that what they usually do? Far easier than this bloody chess game.’

Donaldson shrugged, open-handed. ‘Search me, but Easton is involved somewhere along the line. . just another pawn, I guess.’

‘So Lopez and Grant want the drugs and want to get rid of Sweetman and Easton, too.’

‘Yeah. . I think the drugs are the key. It’s a very big consignment and anyone who gets his hands on it will become very rich. He didn’t say it, but the way I think Lopez will play it will be to reckon that Mendoza lost the drugs. .’ Donaldson was thinking hard. Then he had it. ‘I know what it is,’ he proclaimed. ‘If you ask me, he’s going to try and outsmart the Mafia too. . that’s it! He gets the drugs, sets up his own network, cuts the Mafia out by saying Mendoza never recovered the dope and voila! He’s rolling in it! What do you reckon? You’re the hypothesis guy.’

‘Could be, could be,’ Henry said non-committally.

‘You never get excited about anything,’ Donaldson moaned.

‘Don’t you believe it. But what happens to Mendoza and Sweetman and all the others?’

‘That could well be where the bullets in the head come in.’

Donaldson had arrived at the Holiday Inn Express at the same time as Bignall was being loaded into an unmarked police car and driven away to be extensively interviewed by Roscoe at a safe house. It was likely he would end up in Witness Protection, depending on how much they could squeeze out of him. Anger had also left with Roscoe, whilst Henry and Donaldson walked over to the newly constructed Walton Fox pub, next to the hotel. They were drinking coffee at a table outside, watching the busy A6 traffic.

‘Do we need to run with this together?’ Henry asked. ‘One thing could lead to another here.’

‘Yeah,’ Donaldson said, ‘I do.’

‘There’s one person I need to see before doing anything, though,’ Henry said, telling Donaldson who it was. ‘But I need a lift — I’m carless.’

They finished their drinks and strolled back to Donaldson’s Jeep in the hotel car park. ‘Y’know, pal. . it was a good thing Snell’s body was dumped in Lancashire, otherwise Easton could well have been able to cover it all up.’

Henry guffawed. ‘Didn’t I tell you?’

‘Tell me what?’

‘The body was in GMP.’

‘Eh?’

‘Yep — definitely GMP.’ He stopped and regarded Donaldson. ‘Only by a few feet, admittedly, but it was on their patch. I know the ins and outs of that place like the back of my hand. I stole it.’

‘Why?’

‘Cos I wanted a meaty murder to show that bastard Anger I could do a good job, that’s why.’

‘You son of a bitch.’ Donaldson slapped Henry hard between the shoulder blades and they continued to walk to his car.

‘I knew no one would know the difference — except that PC who was convinced it was on GMP, but I’m sure he won’t really be too bothered.’

Donaldson laughed heartily as he clambered into the Jeep. Henry dropped in next to him. ‘Now you need to tell me about your Spanish jaunt.’

Had he been Spiderman he would have been climbing the walls. However, he was not, but that did not prevent him from trying. He felt like they were closing in on him, inch by dreadful inch; that the ceiling was dropping, going to crush him.

Troy Costain rushed to the cell door and hammered on it, the inspection flap rattling metallically but staying firmly shut. Tears streamed from his eyes as he begged, ‘Let me out, you bastards! You fuckin’ twattin’ bastards. I can’t stand this. It’s giving me a shedder. Please,’ he screamed, hammering louder.

Suddenly an eye appeared at the peephole. Troy jumped backwards into the middle of the cell, where he stood shaking and sweating.

The cell door swung open to reveal the figure of Henry Christie, still clad in the tracksuit he had set off in that morning.

‘Henry — thank God you’ve come,’ Troy bawled, sinking to his knees. ‘You know I can’t stand being locked up. Get me out of here, please. I’ve done nothing. What’s this shit? Conspiracy to murder? What the hell does that mean?’

Henry stepped into the cell. His face was hard and unforgiving. He took hold of Troy’s chin and tilted his face up whilst he bent down so they were eye to eye. Henry spoke quietly.

‘A friend of yours came to see you to ask for help, didn’t he?’

‘What?’

‘He came in a stolen car, didn’t he?’

‘I don’t know what the-’

Henry snapped Troy’s head further back. ‘Don’t lie, Troy, don’t ever lie, OK? Somehow that car ended up in Roy’s hands and then he killed Renata. .’

‘What?’ Troy interrupted. ‘Is that what this is about? Conspiracy to murder?’

‘No. . that’s not what this is about,’ Henry almost whispered, his eyes wild with menace. ‘Your friend was on the run, wasn’t he? And somehow the people who were after him found out where he was, didn’t they?’