Val Mcdermid - Blue Genes

‘You’ll understand why when I tell you what I’ve got for you.’

‘Goodies?’ she inquired enthusiastically.

‘Not so’s you’d notice.’ I bit into my sandwich. Anything to postpone the moment when I delivered the bad news.

Realizing I needed to work up to this one, Della said, ‘We lifted your headstone con artists yesterday morning before their eyes were open. We’d fixed up an ID parade with some of the names you gave us, and we got enough positive identifications to persuade them that they might as well put their hands up and admit to the lot. Turns out they’d pulled the same routine in Birmingham and Plymouth before they turned up here. Nice work, Kate.’

‘Thanks. By the way, on the subject of those two, something occurred to me which you’ve probably thought of already.’

‘Mmm?’

‘I was thinking about the business they’re in. Mobile phones. I just wondered how straight the company is that they’re working for. Given how many ways there are to make an illegal buck out of mobies, and given that this pair are cool as Ben and Jerry’s in the way they operate, I wondered if it might be worth a poke about at Sell Phones.’

‘You know, that might not be such a bad idea. I was so busy with my own team this week, I never gave it a thought. But Allen and Sargent’s arrest gives me the perfect excuse to get a search warrant on Sell Phones. Thanks for the thought,’ Della said, looking slightly embarrassed that she hadn’t worked it out for herself. I knew just how she felt; I’ve been there too many times myself.

‘No problem. However I don’t think you’re going to be quite as thrilled about today’s bulletin, somehow.’

‘Come on, get it over with. It can’t be as bad as all that. The only news that deserves a face like yours is that Josh is a serial killer.’

‘What about a bent DI?’ I said gloomily.

The smile vanished from Della’s eyes. ‘I don’t have to ask if you’re sure, do I?’

‘It’s possible somebody’s setting me up, but I don’t think so. It fits the facts too well.’

Della’s mouth tightened into a grim line and she looked past me into the middle distance. ‘I absolutely hate corrupt police officers,’ she said bitterly. ‘They’ve always got some pathetic piece of self-justification, and it never ever justifies the damage they do. So, who are we talking about here? Just tell me it’s not one of mine.’

‘It really isn’t one of yours,’ I said, knowing it was pretty bleak as reassurances go. ‘It’s a DI in Vice. Peter Lovell? Heard of him?’

Della’s answer had to wait. Rasul came through to the fridge for another tray of sliced ham. ‘All right?’ he asked cheerfully, far too polite to indicate that the expressions on our faces showed the exact opposite.

‘Fine,’ we chorused.

When he’d left, Della said, ‘I know who you mean. I’ve never had anything to do with him directly, never met him socially, but I have heard the name. He’s supposed to be a good copper. High body count, keeps his patch clean. What’s the story?’

‘I’m not too sure of the exact wording on the charge sheet, but it goes something like threatening behaviour, assault, illegal possession of firearms, conspiracy, incitement to cause an affray, obtaining money with menaces, improper use of police resources…Oh, and illegal billposting.’

‘If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were winding me up,’ Della said wearily. She looked at her half-eaten sandwich. ‘I just lost my appetite.’ She was about to bin it, but I stopped her. For some reason I was ravenous this morning. I had the last mouthful of my paratha and started on her leftovers. Ignoring every environmental health regulation from Brussels to Baltimore, Della pulled out her cigarettes and Zippo and sucked on a Silk Cut. ‘Details, then,’ she said.

Lal stuck his head round the door into the shop. ‘Can you crack the window if you’re smoking, Del?’ he asked. I was astonished. I’d never heard anyone contract Della’s name and live. Not only did she ignore his liberty-taking, she even opened the window a couple of inches. Either Della was in a state of shock or there was something going on between her and Lal that I knew nothing about.

‘It all started when Richard came home with Dan Druff and the Scabby Heided Bairns,’ I began. By the time I’d finished, Della looked like she was about to have a second close encounter with the half-sandwich she’d already eaten. ‘So right now, Lovell’s winning,’ I finished up. ‘He’s got the muscle to get what he wants, and the gangsters can’t beat him the usual way because every time they make a move, their shock troops end up behind bars.’

‘I can’t believe he’d be so stupid,’ she said. ‘He must be looking at having his thirty in when he retires. That’s a good pension, and he’s young enough to pull something decent in private security. And he’s risking the lot.’

I helped myself to a Kit Kat from an open box on a shelf behind me. ‘He’s risking a hell of a lot more than that,’ I pointed out as I stripped the wrapper off. ‘He’s risking his life. The people he’s dealing with can’t afford to lose that much face. If the normal ways of warning someone off aren’t working with Lovell, somebody is going to shell out the requisite five grand.’

‘And then there will be a war. It doesn’t matter how bent a bobby is, when he’s dead, he’s a hero. And when we lose one of our own, the police service doesn’t stop till somebody has paid the price.’

‘I think they realize that,’ I said quietly. ‘They’ll have to be desperate before they go for a hit. But every week that goes by where money goes into Lovell’s pocket instead of theirs is a week when the ratchet gets screwed a notch tighter. I don’t know how far away desperation is for the likes of Collar di Salvo’s lad, but I know some of the other players are really hurting.’

Della thumbed another cigarette out of the packet. ‘So Greater Manchester Police has to put a stop to Lovell on humanitarian grounds? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Something like that. But I’m not talking GMP, I’m talking DCI Della Prentice and a small handpicked team. If Lovell’s been on the force this long, he must have a fair few in his corner, and I don’t see how you can be sure who they all are. You need outsiders like you’ve got in the Regional Crime Squad.’

Della did the time-wasting thing that smokers do to buy some space: fiddling with the cigarette, rolling the lighter round in her hand, examining the filter for holes. ‘So what do you suggest?’ she asked.

‘An undercover operation?’

‘Nice of you to volunteer.’

I shook my head. ‘No way. I’m not sticking my head above the trench on this one. Remember, I’m the one who doesn’t believe in private health insurance, and the waiting list for key organ transplants is too long for my liking.’

Della took another hit of nicotine then said, ‘Bottle gone?’

‘Cheeky bastard,’ I growled. ‘My bottle’s as sound as it’s ever been.’

‘Really?’ she drawled. God, I hate Oxbridge graduates. They learn that sarcastic drawl at their first tutorial and they never forget it. Those of us who grew up in the backstreets shadowed by the dreaming spires never got past the snarl.

‘Yeah, really,’ I snarled. ‘You’re the police, it’s your job to catch criminals, remember?’

‘Problem is, you’re not bringing me any hard evidence,’ Della said.

‘So mount your own undercover operation. Leave me out of it.’

‘It’s hard for us, Kate. We don’t have any way into an undercover. We haven’t got some tame club manager who’s going to roll over and help us. And from what you’ve said, your contacts are not going to welcome Officer Dibble with open arms. They might well think it’s better to deal with the devil they know. Whereas you…’