Hidden Witness (28 page)

Mark was not afraid of Henry. ‘Or get me dead,' he rejoined.

Henry was back in his office off the major incident room. Bill Robbins had joined him, as had Jerry Tope, Alex Bent and Karl Donaldson. Mark Carter had been booked into custody and was now sweating it out in a juvenile detection room whilst Henry tried to work out the best way forward.

‘I suppose the humane thing to do would be to have a quick interview with Mark about the robberies – making sure he admitted them, of course, then bail him into the care of social services. The humane thing,' he said again. ‘Then I want to get him with the e-fit people to get a face down on paper. In the meantime, I want a search team to work that route, turn over every rock and find that phone. It's vital it turns up.'

The others nodded assent.

‘And then what?' Bent asked.

‘Good question,' Henry admitted.

‘Can I make a quick suggestion?' Bill Robbins asked.

‘Go on.'

‘I know it's a long shot, but –' he screwed up his face as though what he was about to propose was particularly stupid and that he would be stoned to death – ‘is it worth checking the found property register for the mobile phone? Sometimes people have been known to be honest and hand in property . . . it'd only take a minute.'

‘Not such a bad idea. Can you do that?' Henry asked.

‘Now?'

‘Now.'

Robbins rose and left the room.

The remaining officers all shook their heads. ‘Not a chance in hell,' Bent said cynically. ‘And if it had been handed in, it should have been cross-referenced to the crime report, so we should know if it had been.'

‘Mm,' Henry said doubtfully. ‘Can you check the phone's status, though?' he asked Bent. ‘I'm presuming it was blocked after the robbery was reported. If it has, maybe it could be unblocked, and if it's still transmitting a signal we could locate it that way?'

‘Will do.'

‘Have we heard anything from Rik yet?'

‘No he's at the mortuary with Mandy,' Bent said.

‘The pathologist will be wanting to do Rory's PM. Ask Rik if he'll cover that for me, will you? And then arrange to get Mark Carter sorted?' Henry checked his watch. ‘Social services should be here soon, so they promised.'

It was almost four p.m. as Bill Robbins sauntered through the tight, badly decorated corridors of Blackpool police station. He was feeling quite serene, having been dragged away from the drudgery of some tedious lesson planning at the training centre to come and be Mark Carter's bodyguard. Since coming to the station he had locked all his firearms in the safe in the ARV office.

He went down to the ground floor where the public enquiry desk was located and popped his head through the door behind the desk itself. As ever there was a stream of people at the desk being attended to by a harassed assistant. Bill saw the found property register on a shelf underneath the desk, reached through and took it, then stepped back out of sight lest a member of the public demanded to see a real cop as opposed to a public enquiry assistant, or PEA as they were known.

He retreated into the tiny PEA office and flicked through the book.

These days the police took less and less property from the public. When Bill had joined the job, the cops took everything. Now finders were encouraged to keep what they'd found and if they hadn't heard anything within twenty-eight days, were told that the property became theirs. This even applied to fairly large sums of money.

There wasn't much recorded in the book over the last two days. Bill would have expected that if a mobile phone had been handed in, it would have been retained by the police to cross-check with recorded crimes, pretty standard procedure for such items.

A female PEA came into the office, fitting her epaulettes. She was clearly just coming on duty, working the four-to-midnight shift, after which the police station would be closed. She was a bonny young thing, Bill thought patronizingly, glancing at her name tag: Ellen Thompson.

‘Can I help you?' she asked.

‘Just checking to see if a mobile phone has been handed in over the last couple of days . . . doesn't seem to be anything.'

‘Mm, I've certainly not taken one in,' the PEA said quickly. ‘Don't know about anyone else.'

‘It would have been recorded in here, wouldn't it?' Bill tapped the red-spined found property book. She nodded. ‘OK, no probs.'

The PEA held out her hand. ‘Shall I put it back for you?'

‘Thanks.' Ah well, he thought, another bright idea that came to nought.

Henry and Donaldson stepped out of the lift on the top floor and entered the canteen. Henry was gagging for a drink and something to eat. Donaldson was coffee'd up to the eyeballs, so he bought a mineral water and both men picked a cherry-topped raisin swirl each to go with their drinks, and took their mini-feasts to a table giving them a view across the Irish Sea.

Henry sipped his coffee and waited for the hit before biting a chunk out of his pastry.

Jerry Tope entered the canteen, got himself a brew and went to sit alone. Henry was watching him, but not thinking about him.

Donaldson winced as he tasted his water. ‘Complex stuff,' he said.

‘What, H2O? Hydrogen, oxygen isn't it?'

‘If only things were that simple,' he frowned.

‘You have a look of disquiet,' Henry observed skilfully.

‘Something doesn't add up.'

‘Tell me about it. You can trust me, I'm a cop, a detective super at that.'

‘I've been looking at all the Camorra killings since the hit in Majorca,' he explained, ‘and some don't fit the pattern.'

‘In what way?'

‘The hits on the senior Petrone clan guys seem much more tidy and professional than all the others. The street killings are the usual horrid mess, but the ones where the bosses are taken out are much more clinical – it's no wonder Rosario did a runner. Anyway, I don't know. Maybe it's nothing.'

‘Whoever killed him also seems very keen to the extreme on eliminating witnesses,' Henry said.

‘Problem is I can only access certain files at the moment. I need to look at some more detailed information that I know exists, but I don't seem to be able to get into. A glitch, I think.'

Henry nodded in Jerry Tope's direction. ‘How about our resident hacker? Could he be of assistance?'

Donaldson looked around at Jerry who sipped his coffee thoughtfully and nibbled a custard cream. He knew the Intel unit detective was a skilled hacker and often searched the databases of other organizations without consent. He had once probed deeply into the FBI computer and delved much deeper than most hackers, until he had been discovered by the IT bods at Quantico and chased – in the cyber sense of the word – across the world. Donaldson had been given the task of investigating Tope and there could easily have been much embarrassing egg-on-face all around if the FBI hadn't actually wanted to recruit Tope.

So far, Henry had deflected their advances on behalf of Jerry, but he guessed that one day a financial package would come along and lure him away from Lancashire. Henry would hang on to him for as long as possible because he recognized a brilliant asset when he saw one, even if he was a glum sort of guy.

Donaldson considered him whilst eating his half-cherry. ‘Nah, back burner . . . I'll go and try again. It was probably just one of those IT gremlins.'

‘He's there if you need him.'

Henry and Donaldson watched Tope as he split apart his custard cream and began to lick the filling with the relish of an adolescent.

Henry dropped Donaldson off at his house, gave Kate a quick wave – who, by rights, should have been sat at an airport now – then shot back to the police station. He had about an hour, he estimated, that he would put to good use by writing up the murder book and doing a spot of problem solving.

Donaldson's mobile rang as he walked through the door of Henry's house. He answered it with trepidation as the caller ID told him it was Karen calling. Despite the caution, he tried to give his voice a pleasant lilt.

‘Hi, babe, where the heck are you?'

‘Love, I'm sorry, I couldn't get away from work.' Karen was a superintendent working for the Metropolitan Police but seconded to Bramshill, the grand former stately home in Hampshire now home to a broad spectrum of police training. She was head of the overseas development arm, assisting other countries to develop training packages for their high-ranking officers. She did sound contrite.

‘I really wanted to see you,' Donaldson said sweetly. ‘I really got sidetracked up here.'

‘That's OK, hon. These things happen.'

There was something in her voice underneath the slightly syrupy tone that Donaldson picked up on.

‘When can I expect you?'

‘I'll try and get up for lunchtime tomorrow, now. That OK?'

‘I'll still be here.' Donaldson had moved out on to the front step to take the call, looking through the front door down the hallway. Kate appeared from the kitchen wiping her hands on a towel, watching him on the phone.

‘OK, bye,' Karen said hesitantly.

The line went dead. Donaldson drew the phone slowly away from his ear. He could not work out the voice. Did she somehow know about his indiscretion? Impossible, he told himself. Unless crazy Vanessa had found out who Karen was and had contacted her to reveal the lurid details of the fling. One thing of which he was certain: if Karen knew, she would not hold back. He would get a full broadside and maybe this was the sweetness before the storm. Then again – maybe she was the one seeing someone else? He gulped drily.

‘Everything all right?' Kate asked.

‘Yuh, think so. Karen will be coming tomorrow instead of today. Some hold up at work.'

‘Are the kids OK?'

‘Yeah, should be. They're with Karen's sister down in Southampton for a few days.'

‘So – are you going to remain standing on the front step, or are you coming in?'

He smiled wonkily at her. ‘Any chance of a shower, and maybe a sandwich?'

‘I have pastrami, I have rye bread, I have crisp salad and I have mayo. I also have a power shower . . . tempting?'

‘God, yes,' he gasped.

‘What do you want me to do?'

Henry looked up from the murder book and his mass of notes. The bulky form of Bill Robbins was leaning on the door frame. ‘No luck with found property, I take it?'

‘Nope.'

‘Never mind, good idea, though. Have you had something to eat?'

Bill shook his head.

‘Get something while they're still open and then hang around will you? Not sure what's happening to the star witness yet.'

Bill nodded, pushed himself upright and left the MIR to catch a meal in the canteen.

Henry closed the office door, not wanting any more disturbances. Better detectives than him had had cases seriously threatened by not keeping the murder book up to date. It was sometimes difficult to do, especially when things were happening, but there was never any excuse when the lawyers came into the equation, as they always did. And at the moment, Henry's notes were in disarray. As he sat down he was immediately interrupted by a knock on the door, which opened without invitation as Rik Dean wafted in. Henry thought about saying something about manners, but bit his tongue.

‘Post-mortem carried out on Rory Costain,' Rik announced brightly. ‘Only confirms what we already know – shot in the head, massive brain trauma, some lovely chunks of bullet recovered.'

‘We need to get them compared to the fragments recovered from Petrone, then the link will be conclusive, but I already believe it is. Can you fix that?'

‘I've already got it put through Scientific Support and a motorcyclist is on his way with them to the forensic lab.'

‘Good – and what about Billy Costain and Mandy Carter?'

‘The pathologist will do Billy this evening and Mandy in the morning.' Rik checked his watch. ‘She wants to start in an hour and said she'd like you to be there for that one.' Rik sneaked forward, bent slightly and wagged a finger at Henry. ‘And not just because you're the SIO, I suspect. She spoke very affectionately about you.' He raised his eyebrows and Henry half-thought he was going to say, ‘Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.' Instead, Rik said, ‘You got something on the bubble with her?'

‘No,' Henry said flatly, and if he could have, he would have sent Rik back to stand in on Billy's PM, but he knew it was something he had to do – professionally and personally. ‘I'll be there.'

Rik did then wink. ‘Just remember, pal. One day soon we may be kith and kin, you and me, so we now need to set the ground rules of infidelity.' Henry scowled at him. ‘Like, if I stray and you find out – zip.' Rik pretended to zip-up his lips. ‘And vice-versa . . . a family trust thing.' He looped his forefingers together and pulled, like they were links in a chain.

Henry said tiredly, ‘My sister might be a doozy, but I actually think she'll see right through you sooner rather than later, or, vice-versa, you'll see through her, because she finds it equally hard to keep her panties on as you do your flies up. Don't want to be a killjoy, but if you two ever get hitched I'll show my ring-piece in Burton's window.'

‘You can be very cutting, Henry.'

‘The truth often has a sharp edge to it.' He looked down despondently at the murder book and closed it softly. He guessed it would be a midnight thing. ‘Fancy a bite?'

Freshened and sated, Donaldson was back in Henry's study looking at the laptop. He had a small lager next to him on the desk, which he sipped. It was cold and tasted wonderful with the huge sandwich he'd just eliminated.

His fingertips rested on the keyboard, touching it lightly, but not pressing any keys. When the connection was made he went on to the FBI website and entered his password to take him on to the highly sensitive staff site. He was then asked a series of security questions to enable him to get further into the site and on to the databases he wanted to interrogate.