The Last Big Job (38 page)

‘
What was he doing at Occupational Health?’

‘
Getting a Healthline check, he said.’

FB’s electronic organiser chirped tunefully in his pocket. He
looked at his watch. ‘I should be with the Chief Constable.’ He
started to move away from Danny, all his thoughts suddenly directed
to the meeting ahead. Danny saw she was about to lose
him.

‘
Sir, sir. . . what about Henry?’

‘
Right, right,’ he shouted back over his shoulder. ‘You sort
it out with him.’

Danny bunched a fist in joy.

‘
I like this very much indeed,’ Drozdov nodded approvingly.
‘It is a very good plan.’ He raised his black eyebrows at his two
business partners, Thompson and Elphick. Their faces acknowledged
that it sounded good, too. ‘I particularly like these additional
aspects,’ Drozdov concluded with an evil smile. ‘Very
cunning.’

‘
Thanks. It’s the kind of thing I’ve done before. It works
well - and on today’s scale, it should mean we won’t be
troubled.’

Drozdov sat back pensively. He pointed at Crane. ‘You have
gone to a great deal of time and trouble for a quarter of a million
pounds.’

Crane felt his ears begin to turn red, even though he had been
ready for this. ‘Better safe than sorry, and the additional labour
is cheap. Look, it’s coming out of my whack, so don’t
worry.’

Drozdov eyed him uncertainly, was about to say something else
when Smith called, ‘They’re here,’ from the window where he was
stationed.

As before, everyone bar him filed back into the office, out of
sight. Smith dragged open the roller doors which gave access to the
warehouse. Two Audi sports cars were driven in and parked behind
Thompson’s BMW Both were stolen, but bore clean number plates, new
engine numbers and perfect tax discs (stolen two days before in a
Post Office burglary in Swindon); the engines were perfectly tuned
and serviced. Only the most rigorous physical check by a nosy cop
would start to reveal any defects - and that would never be allowed
to happen.

Smith went across to the loading bay and opened that door too.
A blue Leyland Sherpa van, 3.5 litres, reversed into the empty
space. Again stolen, all details accordingly altered or
obliterated.

The drivers of these vehicles knew their jobs. They did not
hang around, simply left the keys in the ignition and trotted out
of the warehouse, looking neither left nor right, and got into a
car waiting for them in the yard. By the time they drove out, the
warehouse doors were half-closed.

Smith wandered into the office where the others were downing
their umpteenth coffee. ‘That’s everything,’ he announced. ‘One
phone call’ - he tapped the mobile on his belt - ‘then we can
roll.’

Frustratingly for Danny it was almost 1 p.m. before the Murder
Squad review workshop finished. Four hours since she had bumped
into Henry that morning. As a Healthline check lasts only about
forty minutes, he would be long gone.

Annoyed by that and slightly depressed because the workshop
did not seem to have taken the investigation any further, she
meandered back to her beloved new car. When she sat down in it, she
immediately began to feel better. She turned the engine on and
revved it; then she spent a few minutes selecting the musical
accompaniment for the return to Blackpool.
Stars,
by Simply Red. She slid the
CD into the slot and as Mick Hucknall’s sex-filled voice grooved
in, she drove off the car park and down Hutton Hall Avenue ... to
be very surprised to see Henry Christie’s car still parked outside
Occupational Health.

Danny stopped and reversed into the narrow track by the tennis
courts, more or less opposite the OHWU, and waited for him to
appear.

Twenty minutes later, the front door opened and Henry emerged.
He seemed to have no more energy than earlier.

Danny’s mind revolved. Four hours and twenty minutes. What the
hell had he been doing in there for so long?

She quickly got out of her car and strode towards him. He did
not notice her, or look up, until they almost collided next to his
car.

‘
Danny!’ he said in astonishment, as though she was a being
from another planet.

‘
Hello, Henry.’ She held back the desire to say, ‘Bloody long
Healthline check, wasn’t it?’ Instead, she said, ‘I need to speak
to you.’

‘
Ahhh . . . what about? Work’?

‘
Yes.’

He shook his head and curled his lip. ‘Tell you the truth, I’m
off sick, Danny. I ... er ...’ he said absently, unable to complete
the sentence.

‘
I know you’re off sick, but I’d really like your help.’ She
laid a fingertip on the back of his hand, and despite herself and
despite Henry’s wretched appearance, a thrill ran through her. She
caught her breath. ‘It’s this job in Blackpool, the triple
murder.’

‘
I don’t know the first thing about it,’ he said quickly. ‘I
have been away, you know.’

‘
I’d still like some advice.’ She took her finger
away.

For the first time Henry looked squarely at her. ‘I don’t
know.’

Then he looked away, fumbling for his car keys.

‘
Please, let’s go and have something to eat at Headquarters
canteen. I really would appreciate it,’ she said coaxingly, but
actually against her better judgment because Henry looked very,
very ill.

‘
OK.’ He swallowed.

They walked up to the main Headquarters building, past the
rugby pitch on which the Force helicopter now squatted like a huge
insect. It had arrived mid-morning from its operating base at
Warton aerodrome, and barring any call on its services, would be
there until mid-afternoon for display to some police authority
members and other visiting dignitaries.

The HQ canteen was quiet, most people having dined by that
time. They bought sandwiches and a cup of tea each and sat down
near to a window.

Hawker and Price had earlier been dispatched to buy fish and
chips and cold drinks for everyone. The greasy wrappings were
spread around the office. They had all finished eating when the
call came into Smith’s mobile. It was a short conversation. ‘Yeah
... yeah. . . thanks.’ Smith looked around from Crane, to Thompson,
to Drozdov, Elphick, Hawker and Price. ‘Here we go,’ he
said.

Normally Danny found it very easy to talk to Henry. They were
on the same wavelength, had the same sense of humour and above all,
fancied each other like mad. Her efforts to engage him in
conversation that afternoon failed miserably. He was vague, distant
... troubled. She started to think this whole idea of hers was a
waste of effort and time, and in the end she simply wittered on
about the investigation whilst munching her way through her
sandwich, trying to think of a withdrawal strategy without causing
him offence because he wasn’t giving her anything here at
all.

He gazed past her shoulder into the middle distance as she
talked. She could tell he was only quarter-listening, but then he
turned to her and it was as if the old Henry had come home and
switched the lights on.

‘
Repeat that name,’ he said.

‘
Cheryl Jones?’

‘
No, no, no . . . the other one; did I mishear it?’

‘
Malcolm Fitch?’

‘
Yes, Malcolm Fitch.’

‘
You know him?’ Danny chewed her sandwich quickly, becoming
animated.

Henry pursed his lips. ‘Not personally, but I do know that he
was an RCS snout before I went on the squad. In fact,’ Henry leaned
forwards, bright-eyed if not bushy-tailed, ‘do you remember that
night Terry Briggs got shot and Billy Crane turned up at BRI?
Nineteen eighty ... six?’

The image dazzled Danny’s mind immediately. ‘How could I
forget?’

Henry tapped his temple to make himself concentrate. Danny
felt the cheeks of her bum squeeze together with excitement. This
was exactly why Henry, or someone like him, should have been on the
enquiry from the word go, instead of a bunch of inexperienced jacks
who had no history to them - not their fault, of course - and who
probably hadn’t even been in the police in 1986. But Henry was one
of those detectives who had ‘it’ - that certain something which
sets them apart from the pack. Yeah, all those things like
knowledge, experience, a prodigious memory, but also the ability to
piece things together, to give attention to detail and above all,
be there for others to learn from.

‘
You probably won’t remember the guy, and there’s no reason
why you should, but the detective who set that whole operation up
that night, the Building Society break-in...’

‘
Barney Gillrow,’ Danny offered.

‘
You do know him?’ Henry was surprised.

‘
Yeah - I haven’t come to that bit in my story yet, but you go
on, Henry.’ Danny’s eyes flashed at him. God, she wanted to grab
him there and then and have him across the dining table.

‘
If you think back, you’ll remember that - strangely enough -
only two of the three offenders were arrested for the burglary.
Billy Crane and Don Smith. We got Billy at the hospital and Smith
got pulled coming out of the back door of the shop next to the
Building Society.’

Danny’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the second name,
Smith. She had heard it recently, but could not say
where.

‘
The third guy got away. I heard it was Malcolm Fitch. He did
a runner from his arresting officer, who happened to be
Gillrow.’

Danny screwed her nose up. ‘I didn’t know that, but I didn’t
really know very much about the job anyway. RCS didn’t tell anyone.
I just remember getting a prisoner taken off me - the one who blew
up the police cars in Northgate.’

‘
I only know more about it because I was on that job as an AFO
and I knew a few of the RCS guys because I’d been a detective. I
was only back in uniform to get myself promoted to Sergeant. The
rumour was that Fitch was Gillrow’s snout and that he gave Gillrow
the gen about the burglary and then participated in it on the
understanding, firstly he got paid and secondly he managed’ - here
Henry tweaked the first and second fingers of both hands to
accentuate the word ‘managed’ - ‘to escape at some stage, which he
did. Gillrow let him do a runner on the way back to the nick. Smith
got locked up and so did Crane - after he’d shot Terry and Terry
had winged him. . . and the money was never recovered.’ Henry
raised his eyebrows. ‘Could have been a fourth man, maybe. Just
rumour, though, I hasten to add.’

‘
Hang on, hang on,’ Danny said, holding up her hands, palms
out. ‘Let me get this straight. Malcolm Fitch was an RCS informant
and was handled by Barney Gillrow?’

‘
Yes.’ Henry sighed. His energy seemed to be dissipating.
‘Fitch was one of the best sources the RCS ever had in the early
1980s. He was well in touch with a number of individual crims and
some major crime gangs.’

‘
That’s odd, then,’ Danny observed slowly.

Henry waited for her to continue.

‘
I’ve recently spoken to Barney Gillrow, now retired, living
the life of Riley in Tenerife. He told me he hardly even recalls
Malcolm Fitch.’

‘
Unless he’s suffering memory loss, he’s not telling the
truth.’

Danny scratched her head. She told Henry about her visit to
Gillrow, subsequently being warned off and the manner in which it
was done.

‘
Then the Tenerife link needs pursuing.’ He sat back. ‘As does
the link with Billy Crane and Don Smith. Crane and Smith go back a
long way. They were partners in crime, served time together; real
hard cases. Guys like them bear grudges for a long time. If they
found out, say, that Fitch had ratted on them to the RCS, they
wouldn’t be averse to putting a bullet or two in his head, even
now, years later. It could be a revenge killing, tied in with
drug-related murders.’ Henry shrugged. ‘Who knows? Maybe Crane and
Smith deal drugs now, too.’

‘
Shit!’ Danny rocked forwards and pointed excitedly at Henry.
‘I know where I’ve heard that name - Don Smith. Henry, will you
hang fire here for a few minutes while I make a phone
call?’

‘
Nothing better to do.’

‘
You know something? I love you.’ Danny stood up, leaned over
and pecked his cheek. ‘Where have you been all my life?’ She rushed
out of the canteen to find a phone.

Henry touched his face where her lips had brushed him. He
could feel the heat. His fingertips stayed over the spot for a long
time.

The very last pick-up of the day was from a bank in Carlisle
at 1.30 p.m. Slightly behind schedule, but nothing to be concerned
about. Within minutes of leaving the bank they were on the M6
heading south. Colin Hodge was at the wheel of the security van.
His stomach was still jittery, which was fine. It fitted in nicely
with the plans. He’d already had to make one urgent, unscheduled
stop and race to the toilet before shitting himself. It had been a
stop where nothing untoward had happened, so a second stop would
not raise eyebrows from his mates.