Peter Guttridge - City of Dreadful Night

‘Etsy ketsy – haven’t heard that for a while,’ I said.

We’d been in the Balkans together for a bit and a Greek officer had tried to teach us some colloquialisms. ‘Etsy ketsy’ was phonetic Greek for ‘so so’ – provided you used the hand wiggle and maybe a little shrug.

‘Just popped into my head,’ Tingley said, then got down to it. ‘OK, according to the man from the shadow world, the couple in bed were the targets. Little Stevie was collateral.’

I thought for a moment.

‘I don’t buy that. If we’re placing Simpson somehow at the centre of this, then the target is the rent boy.’

‘But that might not be all of it,’ Tingley said. ‘I don’t know how much I believe of what I was told, but it was plausible.’

‘Those men are always plausible. That’s their stock-in-trade.’

‘I know that,’ Tingley said, his tone of voice making me feel foolish.

‘I know you know,’ I said. ‘So what was his scenario?’

‘The couple in bed were Bosnian Serbs and, therefore, potential business rivals for the Brighton crime families. But they lucked into Little Stevie.’

‘And?’

‘They bought him.’

‘I thought he was just for rent.’

Tingley gave me a look.

‘They were trying to blackmail the government.’

‘Didn’t know you could blackmail a whole government,’ I said.

‘Yes, you did.’ Tingley was getting impatient. ‘Terrorists do it all the time.’

‘These weren’t terrorists, though. So it was Simpson they were trying to blackmail?’

‘They were hoping to implicate him in something, yes, but I don’t think it was just the rent boy thing.’

I frowned.

‘He isn’t high enough up the food chain for the government to be worried, is he?’ I said. ‘Friends though they are, the PM would have cut him loose without hesitation. Unless it had implications for others higher up. Did your man know?’

Tingley shook his head.

‘He said it was beyond his pay grade. Suggested we ask Simpson.’

‘That’s going to work.’ I touched the lump on the back of my head. ‘Did your contact say if anyone else locally was involved?’

‘He said – and I quote – “There may have been other local ramifications, yes.” But, again, I don’t have the detail.’

Tingley moved his glass around the table.

‘Maybe Simpson is in deep with one of the local crime families. He grew up here, didn’t he?’

‘As did I,’ I said. ‘We didn’t move in their circles.’

‘University days. Drugs?’

I thought for a moment.

‘Maybe. But what about me? Maybe we’re missing something. Did I have to be removed because I was a threat to somebody on the force? Was I threatening some comfortable deal between police officers and local crime people?’

Tingley steepled his hands.

‘There might be some of that,’ he said. ‘But how did they know you would react in that way? It was your reaction that got you booted out. They couldn’t predict that.’

‘Maybe I was collateral damage too. Big foot, bigger mouth.’

Tingley smiled.

‘Then you became an embarrassment. So, actually, nobody was out to get you – this wasn’t planned to bring you down.’

I wasn’t going to admit that. I wasn’t able to. I looked beyond him to the row of spirits behind the bar.

‘Why was this man happy to tell you now?’ I said.

‘Timing. New way of doing things. Some familiar faces won’t be hanging around the corridors of power any more…’

I frowned.

‘You mean Simpson’s on his way out? Hmm. Maybe.’ Kate popped into my head. ‘How are we going to tell Kate exactly what’s going on with her father?’

Tingley shrugged.

‘Not my area of expertise.’ He looked across the room. ‘I want you to have a chat with someone I know.’

‘That’s always interesting. Who?’

Tingley gestured towards a table in the opposite corner of the pub.

‘A grass.’

I’d noticed the short, middle-aged man with the comb-over when I’d come in. He was with a strikingly pretty woman, taller than him. She was wearing full make-up and might have had plastic surgery to define that jawline. But there was a puffiness about her face. I’d wondered if she was an alcoholic and he the man who kept her drinking under some kind of control. There was an empty bottle of white wine and two empty glasses on the table alongside two further glasses. His was almost full, hers almost empty. They were doing a crossword in the paper and she was looking bored, but maybe that was because she wanted another drink.

‘What’s he got to say for himself?’

‘Let’s find out,’ Tingley said, leading me across the room.

Sheena Hewitt looked older. The Acting Chief Constable’s face was gaunt and there were dark shadows under her eyes that her inexpertly applied make-up couldn’t conceal.

‘What’s so urgent, Sarah?’ she said, tapping her pen on her desk. She sounded weary, too.

Gilchrist was seated in an uncomfortably low chair to one side of the desk, conscious of her knees sticking up in front of her.

‘I had a further interview with Gary Parker this morning. He told us that the male prostitute known as Little Stevie was attempting to blackmail William Simpson, the government adviser.’

‘He has proof of this?’

‘Not direct proof, no, ma’am.’

‘Then it’s hearsay evidence. There’s nothing to be done with it.’

‘But, ma’am, it’s a lead.’

Hewitt sat back in her seat and dropped the pen on her desk.

‘Sarah, the Milldean affair is old news. The Hampshire investigation has concluded no individuals should be prosecuted. Nobody is publicly pressing for any further enquiry and I don’t intend to stir things up again. Enough damage has been done to the reputation of this force already. My job is to contain it and move on. All the officers involved have left the force, retiring on the grounds of ill-health. You are the lucky one. You are working again.’

Gilchrist was indignant.

‘But, ma’am, that means nobody is being held to account for what happened.’

‘Our lax procedures are largely responsible and we are making strenuous efforts to put new ones in place.’

‘That’s just a whitewash,’ Gilchrist said heatedly. She saw Hewitt’s face. ‘Sorry, ma’am.’

Hewitt leant forward and stabbed her finger at Gilchrist.

‘DS Gilchrist, the Milldean affair is not your case, nor has it ever been. You are meddling in things to the detriment of this force and your other duties. You will desist forthwith or you will face disciplinary procedures. Am I clear?’

Gilchrist’s face was burning with a mixture of anger and frustration.

‘Am I clear?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Then you’re dismissed,’ Hewitt said, picking up her pen and pulling a sheaf of papers towards her.

The woman picked up her glass and went to sit at the bar when Tingley and I approached. The grass’s name was Stewart Nealson. I was expecting him to be shifty but he was articulate and open.

‘Bob here is interested in knowing a bit more about what the families are up to.’

‘What they’re up to?’ Nealson touched his nose. ‘The usual dodges and scams. But they’re under a lot of pressure from outsiders. Specially on the smuggling racket through Newhaven and Shoreham.’

‘What do you hear about Milldean?’ I said.

Nealson looked over at the woman at the bar.

‘A real mess from every side you look at it. And best kept away from.’

‘The Bosnian Serb connection?’ Tingley said.

‘Not a people you want to piss off.’

‘Tell us about it,’ I murmured. Tingley and I had not enjoyed our Bosnian tour.