Simon Kernick - The Crime Trade

‘Well, the description fits roughly. He’s about the right age, he’s got black hair and he’s definitely a nasty bit of work. He’s got a record for theft, drugs, and ABH and GBH, so he’s definitely capable of some serious violence.’

‘But?’

‘But he’s small-time, and a bit of a dopehead to boot. In the end, I can’t see anyone hiring him for an important murder. He might have the right temperament, but I can’t see him shooting dead two people, then being savvy enough to tidy up for himself afterwards. He’s a typical criminal really. Not very bright, and fairly predictable.’

‘Fair enough,’ I said, then asked him a few more questions and arranged to fax over the e-fit of our suspect for comparison, before ringing off.

Malik had come over and was leaning against my desk. ‘What have you got?’ he asked.

‘A lead, but I’m not sure where it’s going to take us.’ I told him briefly what I’d heard while he listened in silence.

He looked pleased. ‘Well, let’s have a look at him. Bring his details up on the system and see how well he matches the e-fit.’

I logged on to the PNC database, fed in the relevant details Daly had given me and, after a few seconds, the black and white mugshot of a young man with a thin, pallid face, defiant eyes and unkempt, greasy black hair stared back at me. At first glance it looked as if he was snarling at the camera, but on closer inspection I could see that he had a harelip. A wispy, untidy moustache did little to conceal it.

‘Nice-looking lad.’ Malik chuckled.

‘It’s amazing,’ I said. ‘He couldn’t be anything but a criminal. Whoever said you should never judge a book by its cover should come here and take a look at this guy.’

‘But is he our man?’

‘I don’t remember the e-fit of the suspect being this ugly.’

Malik stepped across to his desk, picked up a hardcopy of the suspect e-fit and put it up next to Panner on the screen. It wasn’t exactly a close match, but the hair colour, age and facial features were similar, although the hairstyle (if you could call Panner’s dishevelled mop a style) was markedly different. The e-fit suspect’s hair was curlier and shorter.

We both stared at the two pictures for a moment. ‘Inconclusive,’ said Malik eventually. ‘It says here that Panner’s five feet nine inches, which fits within the witness’s height range, but it’s difficult to tell.’

‘If they are one and the same then she was being very flattering in her description.’

‘We don’t know how good her eyesight is. Are you and Tina going to check this lead out?’

‘I can’t get hold of her at the moment. I know she’s got a lot on. How about you coming with me?’

‘I’ve got a lot on myself.’

‘Come on. We could do with some quality time together.’

‘The last time I spent quality time with you was Heathrow last week, and five people ended up shot.’

‘Well, it can only be an improvement, then.’ I stood up. ‘Let’s grab a bite first. I’m starving.’

‘All right,’ he said, putting the hardcopy back on his desk. ‘It’s a good enough lead to warrant some effort, I suppose.’

We took a bit of a stroll and went to a pub called the Dragon which served good food all day, according to the sign outside the door. I bought Malik an orange juice and, trusting him not to give me any trouble over it, a pint of Greene Man for myself. We also ordered our food, going Dutch this time (I don’t get paid enough to be too generous), then found ourselves a table by the door. I plumped for the lasagne, with a green salad; Malik, the homemade steak and kidney pie with veg and mash.

‘So,’ he said, watching me take a healthy mouthful of beer, ‘have you got an address for Panner?’

I nodded. ‘If he’s no longer there, he’ll be in breach of his probation. I’ve got the victim’s, Ragdale’s, address on there too. Perhaps she could throw some light on whether or not he’s a hitman on the side.’

‘If he is, he’s not a very good one.’

‘That’s my concern, because I’m sure our man is. But three weeks ago Panner was in possession of that gun. So at the very least he can point us in the right direction.’

Malik nodded. ‘Tell me something,’ he said, sitting back in his seat and giving me a smile. ‘Are you and Tina Boyd an item?’

His question caught me completely off guard, which I suppose it was designed to, and I made the mistake of hesitating for a second. ‘No, course not,’ I said lamely. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘There’s something in the way you look at each other. It’s very subtle, but it’s there for definite. Either you’re an item, or you definitely fancy her like mad. It’s one or the other.’ He sipped his orange knowingly.

‘I fancy her,’ I said with a smile. ‘But as far as I know, the feeling’s not mutual.’

‘It is, I think.’

‘Christ, who are you? Dr Ruth? Our relationship is purely platonic, I promise you. I always keep my working relationships above board, it’s a long-standing habit of mine.’ I felt bad lying to him, because we got on well and I’d come to count on him as a friend in the time since we’d met on the Holtz case, but I knew it would be more than my life’s worth for Tina to find out I’d let the cat out of the bag.

‘It’s a pity,’ he said. ‘I think you’d make a good couple. You look right together.’

‘Thank you, Cupid.’

‘I’m serious. You do. Maybe you should think about it. A relationship’d do you good.’

‘What do you mean?’

He was about to answer and give me another piece of domestic advice when his mobile rang. He pulled it out and started talking, getting up from the table at the same time and walking out the door. I watched him go, taking another drink of my beer and thinking that usually I didn’t like being lectured by anyone, particularly colleagues, but with Malik I was prepared to make an exception. Mainly because I could tell he genuinely meant what he said, and was motivated by all the right reasons. In fact, I’d wanted to come right out and tell him that Tina and I were together and were very happy too, because I knew it would please him, but the moment was gone, and maybe that was for the best. I wasn’t sure I liked the comment that a relationship would do me good, though. Especially as I was in one.

‘Anything interesting?’ I asked him when he came back a couple of minutes later.

He sat down and put the phone away. ‘Your friend and mine, Mr Jack Merriweather. Apparently, he wants conjugal visits.’

Jack Merriweather. Now there was someone I hadn’t thought about in a while. Thanks to Malik’s and my efforts, he was currently behind bars in London’s maximum-security Belmarsh prison, and was to be the main prosecution witness in the upcoming trial of a number of associates of the Holtz crime family, including its most senior surviving member, Neil Vamen. Merriweather had been a Holtz man through and through, and had only escaped a very long prison sentence because he’d agreed to testify against his old friends and bosses.

‘He wants conjugal visits? Who from?’

‘His mistress, apparently. A hatchet-faced blonde called Cheryl who’s older than he is and about as attractive as our man Panner.’

‘Christ, that’s saying something.’

‘Believe me, it’s true. Apparently, he’s been seeing her for years, and she hasn’t been put off by his latest predicament.’

‘He’s not going to get visits just like that, is he? That really would damage what’s left of my faith in the criminal justice system.’

Malik shook his head. ‘Apart from anything else, it’d be too much of a security risk.’

‘What do you mean?’