The Last Big Job (18 page)

Try as he might, Crane could not stop his eyes closing
despairingly. Another bent security guard. They were a liability.
Useful to a degree, then ... eminently disposable.

‘
There’s a big difference to this firm, though. They do all
the normal, two-bit runs all over the place, sometimes carrying a
lot of dosh, right. But every so often they do a special run.’
Hodge paused for effect. His eyes played patronisingly over Smith
and Crane. ‘Do I have your attention now?’

Crane licked his lips.

Smith urged him on. ‘Yes, you do.’

‘
Good. Every so often - it varies, depending on the
circumstances - my company collects money. Untraceable used notes
from the banks all across Southern Scotland and Northern England.
These notes are delivered to a specialist waste company in the
Midlands where under high security, they are incinerated. In fact,
I did such a run today.’

‘
Tell us how much you carried,’ Smith said. His eyes betrayed
greed and Crane noticed this.

‘
You want to know how much I carried in the back of my van?’
Hodge teased and looked at Crane for the answer.

‘
Yes,’ Crane said, with a rancid smile.

‘
Fifty million pounds - and not one penny of it traceable
anywhere.’

Chapter Six

‘
What we do is this: we keep him sweet, we string him along
and we milk him of all the information he has to give us. We let
him believe he’s got clout and that he’s running the show - because
that’s what he wants to believe. We feed him cash, we feed him
birds, booze and smack if that’s what turns him on. We con the
living shit out of him and then we bury the twat!

‘
See - I’m not having no stinking little security guard trying
to tell me what to do,’ Crane went on. ‘No fucking way under God’s
sky. We run him. Be doesn’t run us.’ Crane turned to Smith. His
eyes were lit by passing fluorescent street-lights as the car moved
swiftly northwards through the easy traffic. They were back in the
shabby Vauxhall Carlton, having concluded their meeting with Colin
Bodge. ‘Is that clear?’

Smith’s face cracked with a smile of pleasure. ‘I take it from
that you’re in?’

Crane extended his right hand. Smith shook it and clasped his
left over it. ‘I knew you’d be interested. I needed you along.
You’ve got all the right contacts for this one.’

‘
And I don’t want to take that little bastard’s word for
anything,’ Crane said, referring to Bodge. ‘Do some background on
him, make sure he’s not telling us a load of crap. Make sure he’s
not a cop or a snout, either. Check everything out, mega-style.
Take nothing at face value. I’ve had so-called mates informing on
me in the past and I didn’t like it one bit.’

Smith guffawed.

‘
What’s the joke?’

‘
Nah - you’ll see very soon. Something very pertinent to what
you’ve just said.’

‘
Stop stringing me along, will you?’ Crane was
annoyed.

‘
Hey, Bill, stick with me, eh? It’ll come good. You can trust
me.’

‘
Right, sure,’ he said without enthusiasm.

They were driven north to Bispham and on to a small industrial
estate. The whole place was dead.

‘
Here we are,’ Smith announced as the car drew to a halt.
‘Lesson time.’

Way above in the ceiling, the strip-lights pinged on. Cheryl
blinked. The lights were very bright after the darkness and hurt
her eyes. She was extremely cold. Her legs and hands were numb. She
saw, at last, what sort of premises she was in - a garage. There
were two hydraulic car ramps, over two inspection pits. A car was
on one and the ramp was raised high. There was no car on the other
ramp nearest to her. Cheryl could see the black, rectangular
inspection pit. It reminded her of a newly dug grave.

She heard footsteps and began to sob.

Cheryl and Spencer, both naked, were now seated on plastic
chairs, placed side by side. Their feet and wrists were still
secured by tape, their arms pulled around the backs of the chairs.
Cheryl had wet herself and was sitting in a puddle of her own
urine. Spencer had gone one step further in his terror and soiled
himself. A tremendous stench wafted from underneath him.

‘
Fifty thousand pounds, that’s what I lost,’ Billy Crane said
in a gentle voice - for the tenth time - leaning into Cheryl’s
face. He was wearing a pair of overalls.

‘
I’m so sorry,’ she gurgled. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘
Sorry doesn’t cut it, you stupid bitch.’ Though the words
were harsh, Crane’s voice remained calm. As a result, he was all
the more fearsome. He was playing with them and enjoying
it.

He turned his head slowly, rather like Dracula, and cast his
eyes to
Spencer who quickly looked away
and stared down at the oozing shit between his legs. ‘I don’t need
to
say very much to you
,
sonny, do I?’

Spencer did not
respond.

Crane reached across and tipped up Spencer’s chin with a
forefinger. There was no
resistance. ‘You
are a stupid little boy
who thinks he’s a
man, aren’t you?’

Spencer blinked rapidly and swallowed.

‘
Men do not
crap themselves,
Spence.’

Crane stood up
to
his full height, looked around the floor and saw
a couple of eight-foot wooden planks, each about four inches thick,
lying nearby. ‘Lay those two planks on top of each other,’ he
said.

Hawker and Price, the two men who had so efficiently abducted
the couple, materialised from behind them. They carried out Crane’s
instructions, placing one plank on top of the other.

Crane watched them work, then turned to
address Cheryl and Spencer. ‘I want you
both to
see how angry you have made
me and to
realise how wrong you were
to
be such fools. I’ll deal with
you
first.’ He glared directly at
Spencer.

‘
Oh fuck - no
,’
Spencer screamed. ‘I didn’t even know she was carrying the
stuff. Jesus Christ! Jesus Christ!’ he babbled. ‘I’ve done
nowt
.’

‘
Pick him up and lie him face down, parallel to
the planks,’ he instructed Hawker and
Price.

On hearing the words, Spencer shot to
his bound feet and threw himself sideways in an effort
to
escape. The two men caught him quickly
and easily. One punched him hard in the guts, doubling him over,
driving all the air and fight out of him. Spencer crumpled with a
groan. Then they laid him out as instructed.

‘
About two feet away,’ Crane directed. ‘Good.
Now
,
release his
arms.’ Crane squatted on his haunches near to
Spencer’s head and spoke quietly. ‘Listen to
me, Spencer. ‘I’m going to
get these guys to
let your arms go
free, so you can do this whatever way you
want. I don’t give a shit. If you
struggle or fight at all, things will be worse for you.’
Crane shrugged. ‘You know what I’m saying, don’t you?’

Spencer nodded, his face pressed into the oily concrete of the
garage floor. His hands came free.

‘
Good. Now, Spencer, keep yourself face down and reach out
with your right arm, straight out from your shoulder and place the
palm of your hand down on top of the planks. That’s it, good lad.
Keep your arm rigid and keep your elbow nice and locked.
Excellent.’

Crane stood up stiffy, stepped over Spencer so that he was
standing in the gap between Spencer and the planks. He placed the
sole of his right shoe on the point of Spencer’s elbow and tested
it with a little bit of pressure, but no real body
weight.

He nodded at Cheryl and smiled foully.

Her face was a mask of horror and disbelief.

Spencer began to weep.

Crane’s expression was evil. ‘This is part payment for fifty
grand,’ he announced. At the exact moment he finished speaking, he
rose up, put all his weight on to his right foot and forced
Spencer’s elbow down like he was breaking a twig. The joint went
first time with a loud splintering crack. Spencer roared in
pain.

Crane stepped off.

‘
I do not fuck about,’ he said, lurched over to Cheryl,
grabbed her face in the palm of his hand and squeezed, distorting
her features. ‘And now it’s your turn, girl,’ he
growled.

Henry Christie stared with growing disbelief at Detective
Superintendent Rupert Davison, then emitted a high-pitched laugh
with a slightly hysterical tinge to it. ‘Did I hear you right?
You’re asking me why I didn’t shoot him?’

‘
You had the opportunity.’

‘
Yeah - and he was being driven away in
a car by some kid and he presented me with no danger
whatsoever, except from exhaust fumes. Not only that, I was holding
a firearm which I’d taken from Jacky Lee’s body which, it will
probably transpire, was no doubt used by Lee to waste a guy a few
weeks ago. . . the reason I was on Lee’s tail in the first
place.’

Henry sat down after realising he had been pacing the room - a
classroom at Sedgely Park, Greater Manchester Police’s training
school. This was where a hasty rendezvous had been arranged for him
and Terry Briggs to meet Davison for a debrief of Lee’s
shooting.

‘
You let a professional killer go loose, probably to kill
again.’

Henry blinked. He gave a sidelong glance at Terry who was
sitting there shaking his head. He could not believe what he was
hearing, either.

‘
So be it,’ Henry said. ‘I’ll live with it. At least I’m not
at the shitty end of another PCA enquiry or civil litigation,
having to justify even drawing breath, let alone firing a
non-police-issue firearm. Yeah.’ He folded his arms defensively. ‘I
can live with that.’ He was thinking about an on-going enquiry, in
which he was deeply embroiled, following the shooting incident
several years earlier when he had been obliged to put a bullet into
a professional hitman. Things like that did not go away. They
scarred for life.

‘
You have less of a conscience than I do, then,’ Davison
said.

He and Henry stared impassively at each other. Henry was
determined he would not be the one to drop his eyes. Instead, he
raised his eyebrows.

After leaving the scene of Jacky Lee’s murder - in keeping
with the characters of their legends - he and Terry had immediately
contacted Davison and filled him in on what had taken place. As a
result of their information, details of the getaway car had been
circulated, but as yet - 11 p.m. - it had not been found. Davison
had hastily arranged to meet the two U/C officers for a debrief and
statements from them.

This process was taking a long time. They had been at it four
hours. Henry and Terry were worn out and needed some serious kip.
Davison’s attitude did not help either; he was annoying both
detectives immensely.

‘
You’re criticising me for not shooting someone - is that what
I’m hearing? I hate to think what you’d be saying to me if I had
pulled the trigger.’ Henry snorted and let it drop. He needed a
bed. He thought briefly about Kate and wondered if she was asleep
or not. ‘I guess that’s it,’ he said with a touch of finality.
‘Job’s over. Jacky Lee’s met a sticky end. You’ll probably never
find out for sure if he killed that guy in the canal, and we’ve
done our work.’

‘
No, you haven’t.’ Davison shook his head.

Henry and Terry looked up together.

Davison held up the witness statements they had written. ‘I am
now the SIO on the murder of Jacky Lee. I will not be making these
statements available to the investigating team, though I will let
my deputy know about them, of course. As far as you are both
concerned, you are being hunted down by the police as witnesses to
the murder, possibly even suspects. I haven’t revealed to any of my
team that an undercover operation was up and running as regards
Lee. It is not my intention to tell them an undercover operation is
up and running to find Lee’s murderer.’

‘
What are you saying?’ Terry demanded.

‘
That I want you’ - he pointed at Henry - ‘to stay undercover,
and I don’t want the Murder Squad to know about it, with the
exception of my deputy SIO. I want you to get into the ribs of
Lee’s minders and gather evidence for us . . . then when you’ve got
it, I’ll pull you out.’

‘
That will be so fucking dangerous, it’s not worth talking
about,’ Henry pointed out forcefully. ‘There’s a good chance I’ll
get iced as well as Lee. It is not a good situation. In fact, it’s
a dark, murky one. These people don’t mess around, you know. They
don’t like you, or don’t trust you, they kill you. They’re not like
you and me.’

‘
I want you to go back in and find out who killed Jacky Lee,
then withdraw. Piece of piss for a guy like you.’