Nick Oldham - The Last Big Job

‘ Yeah, sure. Think I was born yesterday, do you?’

‘ OK, that’s fair enough. You’ll need a code-name,’ Henry said. ‘We don’t use real names over the phone — just in case.’

‘ Nero,’ the man suggested quickly.

‘ OK, Nero — give me one hour,’ Henry reiterated. ‘Ring back via Crimestoppers again — it’s safer that way.’

By the time that hour had passed, it was almost midnight. FB had been woken up and apprised of the new development. Groggily he had said, ‘You and DS Furness go if you think it’s necessary.’ Henry had also arranged for three thousand pounds to be paid to him from the informants fund. Booking a flight or accommodation had been impossible at that time of night.

Sixty-one minutes later, Crimestoppers connected Nero through to Henry’s extension. ‘The money has been sorted and I can come and see you. Obviously I can’t book a flight at this time of day, that will have to wait until morning. Call back at ten — we’re in the same time zone, aren’t we?’

‘ OK — but if you haven’t sorted out a flight by then, the deal’s off. I can’t afford to wait around.’

Henry smirked, knowing he was being bullshitted. He had vast experience of dealing with informants, or ‘sources’ to use police jargon. They rarely stopped once they’d started because they are usually driven people — driven by revenge, greed, or both, or they actually like being informants, enjoy playing the game, being a double-agent, living on the edge of what has often been a worthless life. ‘Don’t worry,’ Henry said, ‘everything will be sorted… but there is one thing.’

‘ What?’ asked the source dubiously.

‘ Give me something else now, prove your credentials.’

Henry heard the man clicking his tongue, thinking.

‘ It doesn’t have to be mega,’ Henry encouraged him.

‘ Maybe tomorrow,’ he said and hung up.

Henry and Danny spent the remainder of that night at the Training School in separate rooms, and were up by seven. After a hurried breakfast, they both drove back to Blackpool to their respective homes. Henry had breezed into his house like he was doing the most normal thing in the world, dashed around like a whirlwind, finding his passport, stuffing clothing and shoes into a holdall. He kissed Kate in passing, gave Jenny and Leanne a quick peck on the cheeks and was gone, with no real explanation, no proper conversation, just a hurried, ‘Got to get to Tenerife… might have cracked this job… shouldn’t be gone too long… give you a bell, love… bye!’ Then breezing quickly past a speechless wife.

Pulling away in his car he felt an absolute bastard and when he glimpsed the stony-faced figure of Kate standing in the bay window, he felt physically sick. Yet he pressed on and was back at Headquarters before nine to find Danny had beaten him and was already phoning around for flight tickets. Henry sorted out money and accommodation and made brief contact with the Criminal Justice Support, National Criminal Intelligence Service at Scotland Yard and the Spanish police in Tenerife to tell them all, as a matter of courtesy, his plans.

Danny quickly secured two cancellations on a holiday charter. The tickets would be made available at Manchester Airport and they had to be there at 1p.m. for a 2.30 p.m. flight. She then booked a hire car for collection at the airport in Tenerife.

The source rang again on the dot of ten. ‘This is Nero.’

‘ How are you?’

‘ Getting jittery already — but never mind that. What’s happening?’

‘ I should be in Tenerife by seven this evening, landing at Reina Sofia. What arrangements do you want to make to meet?’

‘ That’s too close to home. I can’t see you there. What about Santa de la Cruz, ten tonight?’

‘ Cuts it pretty fine, doesn’t allow for any delays.’

‘ I’ll wait for you — for a while, anyway.’

‘ Where shall we meet?’

‘ At the cop shop. You parade up and down in front of it and I’ll approach you. It’ll be safe enough there for me, I guess.’

‘ I’ll arrange it,’ Henry said quickly. ‘How will you know me?’

‘ I’ve seen your picture in the papers, apart from which you’ll be the only arsehole parading up and down outside the police station.’

‘ Fair point. So… can you give me something else now?’ Henry asked.

‘ Let me think… something a bit tasty. How about an ex-cop living out here with very close ties to the man you’re after? I’ll blow the whole caboodle on him, too.’ He hung up.

Henry turned to Danny and FB, who had arrived by then, and said, ‘He’s going to give us Barney Gillrow too.’

Just over twelve hours later, Henry had met Nero outside the police station in Santa de la Cruz and hustled him into an interview room.

Arranging facilities with the Spanish police had been easy. The relationship between the Spaniards and the British police was extremely good, mainly because the international drugs problem is common to both countries, as are many of the criminals. In his time on the RCS Henry had worked in Spain, — though not the Canaries — on a number of occasions, mostly on surveillance jobs.

Henry went alone into the interview room. Danny watched and listened through the two-way mirror.

‘ First things first. I need to know who you are,’ Henry said as he sat.

‘ No, my first things first. Where is my three thousand pounds?’

‘ You’ll get your money when I’m satisfied that your product is worth paying for,’ Henry said firmly. ‘Let me make something crystal clear from the outset. I am in charge of this process, not you. I decide how it goes. I understand you want to come out of it with a bucketful of money, probably with protected status too, and I don’t have a problem with that. At the same time you have a desire to tell me, for whatever reason, about someone who has committed very serious crimes. Whilst I am eager for you to give me this information, you must understand that all it does is support my own evidence. I will arrange for the money and the protection, don’t worry about that. But the agenda is mine — all mine.’ Henry paused and looked squarely at the man who had a face full of bruises and a left hand wrapped with grimy bandages which stunk. ‘What is your name?’

‘ Lawrence David Brayfield, born sixth June 1953. My friends call me Loz.’

‘ Thank you — Loz.’

In the other room, Danny scribbled these details down and was on the phone a minute later, checking him out.

‘ Speaking broadly, Loz, not specifically yet, what information can you give me?’

‘ The name of the man who murdered three people in Blackpool and the definite reason why he killed two of them. And the name of the man, the same guy, who pulled that big security van job on the M6. I can blow open wide the drug-smuggling operation this guy operates from here. I can give you names of suppliers, dates of deliveries, names of couriers… fucking everything. I can also tell you about an ex-cop who was on the take from this guy too.’

‘ What is the man’s name?’

‘ Billy Crane. Barney Gillrow is the ex-cop.’

As easy as that, Henry thought triumphantly.

So that Crane would not be alerted, Henry decided it would be prudent if their singing informant was to continue to lead a normal life, run Crane’s legitimate businesses in and around Los Cristianos whilst he was bled white of information during regular debriefs. Once there was enough to move against Crane, Henry would then arrange for Loz to meet a Witness Protection Officer who was due to fly out from the Metropolitan Police. From then on, Lawrence Brayfield’s life would change for ever.

Although Henry’s decision was perfectly sound, there was a personal angle to it as it gave both him and Danny time to spend together. They were in adjacent rooms in the hotel in Los Cristianos Danny had stayed in previously and were able to divide their time between speaking to Loz and indulging in wonderful sex, wine and food (in that order) as their love blossomed in the sub-tropical heat.