Nick Oldham - Big City Jacks

Icy realization dawned slowly over Troy’s face.

Henry smiled dangerously. ‘Do you know what they did to your friend when they found him?’

Troy’s head, held by Henry’s hand, shook slowly.

‘Killed him. Shot him. Murdered him. And do you know why? Because you told them where he was, didn’t you?’

Troy was like a statue now. Henry released the hold on his head.

‘Therefore you conspired to kill him.’

Henry let go of him and Troy rose shakily to his feet, moved back and sat down heavily on the bench bed. ‘No, I didn’t do it for that.’

‘You must have known they would kill him,’ Henry said harshly. ‘I now want the telephone number you called to drop your mate right in this, and I want the name of the guy you spoke to. . then, maybe, we can start talking about where we go from here. Understand, Troy? You are in the biggest trouble you have ever been in — ever.’

‘My mobile phone is in my property. It’s one of the last ten numbers in there. The guy’s name was Phil — and that’s all I know,’ he wailed. ‘Honest. Keith had twenty-five grand on him and he told me how he’d got hold of it when he was drugged up. I thought I’d be able to get a backhander for telling them where the cash was. I didn’t mean to get him killed.’

‘Troy — you are the scum of the earth,’ Henry said with disgust. ‘And while we’re about it, you can tell me where Roy is. .’

Henry left Troy in mental agony in the cell at Blackpool nick, booked out his mobile phone from the property bag in the custody office and tabbed through the numbers Troy had recently called. With the business card that Phil Lynch had given him, Henry soon found that the number Troy had called was indeed that of the corrupt SPOC. Matching the numbers sent a spurt of adrenaline through his system, as the case against Lynch was getting stronger and stronger. It would be a good springboard into the rest of the inquiry into Carl Easton’s corrupt team of big city jacks. Henry returned the phone, then ran up to see Rik Dean in the CID office. He thanked him for picking Troy up and asked him to confiscate the mobile phone, which could provide valuable evidence in the murder investigation. He told Dean that, for the moment, Troy was going nowhere, and gave him the whereabouts of Roy Costain. It would be a nice arrest for Dean.

Henry dashed back out to Donaldson, who was waiting for him in the car park, and they drove to Henry’s house.

Kate was all over Donaldson like a bad rash, so relieved to see him alive, and once this show of affection was over, Henry almost having to prise them apart, she prepared a quick meal for the both of them. They devoured it, Henry got changed and within twenty minutes they hit the road again, heading speedily across the county to Rawtenstall, Henry’s mind now filled with the prospect of an arrest followed by a protracted investigation and lots of arrests. He was going to be busy for quite some time.

It was a closed briefing. Henry, Karl Donaldson, Jane Roscoe, Dave Anger and the ACC Operations, now acting chief in the absence of FB. Henry had decided not to invite Carradine, just to be awkward, but nobody seemed to notice. The show had been well and truly handed to Henry — who had now formally returned to work from sickness.

They met at Rawtenstall police station, hijacked the inspector’s office once again, imported a few extra chairs into the cramped space and scrummed down behind closed doors.

‘There is good evidence against Phil Lynch regarding the murder of Keith Snell.’ Henry glanced at Roscoe. ‘Although Lawrence Bignall is still being interviewed, he’s put enough down on paper to put Lynch right in the frame. There are other circumstantial bits of evidence to support what he says and as far as I’m concerned, we’ve enough to arrest him now. But, at the same time as we arrest him, I want us to get into the safe in the property store at the Arena police station and seize the guns belonging to Snell.’ He paused, taking a breath. ‘Those actions will open floodgates, I guess. These could sweep us to the murder and attempted murder of Colin Carruthers, me and the chief. It will also open up links to the job on the M62 where twenty illegal immigrants died in the back of a truck, and from there on, a lot of international stuff — hence the presence of Karl, here, from the FBI.’

‘How do you want to play it, then?’

‘We need to get Lynch sewn up tight. I want everything done to the nth degree — forensics, house searches, clothing, all vehicles he’s had access to gone over by CSI, and I want to find that damned Citroen van. We’ve already got a lot of this information from Bignall, so my view is we need to act on it quickly. Once Lynch is nailed to the wall, we can go for the others.’

Henry saw nods of agreement. It was a plan and he was open to suggestions, but none came.

‘I take it this is OK with everybody?’ A murmur of assent came back. He would have liked to see a little more enthusiasm, but there you go. ‘Right, let’s work out some of the logistics.’

Henry and Donaldson drove out towards Manchester in an unmarked police car. Jane Roscoe sat quietly in the back as Henry whisked them down the M66. Why he had let her tag along with him he wasn’t certain. Maybe it was to further demonstrate to her that he was an OK guy.

‘It has to be better to pick him up at his home address,’ he was saying. ‘That way we keep a lid on it. None of his mates need to find out until it’s too late for them — hopefully. He lives alone, so there shouldn’t be anyone there to blab. It would be nice to keep him under wraps for some time at least.’

The journey did not take long, Henry exiting the motorway at Bury, where Lynch lived on a newish estate in the Walshaw area. Henry had a good idea where it was, especially after refreshing his mind from an A-Z map book he found at Rawtenstall nick.

‘Everybody happy?’ Henry beamed sitting at the wheel. He was buzzing, but there was no response from the other two, though he knew they were keyed-up for action. Even Donaldson, who would have to remain on the sidelines whilst Henry and Roscoe did the work of making the arrest. ‘Soon be there,’ he promised, as though to kids.

Henry reached a road where he could not quite be sure whether he should turn off first or second left.

He got it wrong, but it was just as well.

As he flew past the road end he should have turned into, a car drew up to the junction.

‘That’s him,’ Henry snapped, recognizing Lynch at the wheel. He held back the urge to duck down behind his steering wheel and kept going without swerving.

Donaldson eyeballed Lynch, getting a good, if quick, look at his face. ‘I recognize him,’ he said. ‘He’s the guy that gave me the hard stare from the back of the Citroen van on the motorway.’

‘Nice one,’ Henry said, watching Lynch in his rear-view mirror. He pulled out of the junction and turned right, going in the direction Henry had just driven from, towards Bury town centre. ‘Need to turn this bus round.’

Following a vehicle on a one-on-one is tricky. To effectively surveil someone travelling on four wheels generally requires at least four cars and, if possible, a motorbike. Henry was kicking himself for failing to anticipate this situation, but then again, he thought reasonably, it’s impossible to cover all bases with the limited resources available. But he had not expected to have to follow his target, and this made him twitch a little nervously. Judgement again? He took a breath. . go with the situation, keep assessing it and do your best, he told himself, gripping the wheel firmly. Then pick the best opportunity to lift Lynch.

‘Wonder where he’s going?’ Donaldson speculated.

Henry slotted in three cars behind, hoping to hell that Lynch was such a confident bastard that it would never occur to him he was being tailed. If he started to use anti-surveillance tactics, Henry would be stuffed at the first junction.