The Price Of Darkness (15 page)

‘Just tell me when, boss.’

‘When what?’ Winter was still looking at Mackenzie.

‘When
what
?’ Mackenzie seemed to have paled under his summer tan. ‘You’re telling me you don’t know how these things work? You think this is some kind of game? You’re trying to tell me you’re fucking
surprised
?’

West had shed his coat. He folded it very carefully over the back of a chair. Winter watched him, aware of a small, cold pebble of fear at the very pit of his stomach.

‘Baz, I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. Last time we had a conversation, we were business partners. Now you barge in here like it was Dodge fucking City. This isn’t what you do, not if we’re going to make this thing work.’

‘Business partners?’ Mackenzie bent to the low coffee table beside the sofa. Winter had been re-inspecting the Trophy folder earlier. Now, Mackenzie stabbed a finger at the photo on the inside page. ‘That’s my brother, in case you hadn’t realised. My
brother
. Kith and kin. Blood. Family.
Comprende?
He does something silly. He dies. We’re devastated, all of us. Tell you the truth, we’re fucking broken in half. The bloke’s only forty-five, for fuck’s sake. So what do we do? We give him a decent send-off. We fly half a planeload of his mates down there. We spend a bit of money. Because we all knew him. Because we’re all family. That’s about trust … yeah? And missing the bugger … yeah? But do you know what else I do? In spite of everyone telling me I’m off my head? I get you down, too. Why? Because I trusted you. Because you were on board. Or so I thought.’

‘So what’s changed?’

Mackenzie stared at him.

‘What’s
changed
? Fuck me, do you think we’re
really
stupid? Do you think we’re thick? Is that it?’ He took a step closer. Winter could see the madness in his eyes. ‘Any more of this, mush, and I’m not going to waste my breath. I’ll just tell Westie to get on with it. Is there a room in this khazi needs redecorating? Only it’d be a shame to mess your carpet up.’

Winter stood his ground.

‘Just tell me, Baz.’

‘Tell you what?’

‘Tell me what I’m supposed to have done here.’

Mackenzie shook his head and shot a glance at West and for a moment Winter thought he’d blown it, gone too far, but then the cropped blond head swung back towards him. Anger had given way to something else. Disbelief.

‘I get a call this evening, right? Bloke from Cambados. Bloke we met a couple of times. His name’s Rikki. He’s Colombian. He’s a big player, the main man, and he’s laughing fit to fucking bust. Why? Because it turns out someone’s been grassing.’

‘About what?’

‘About a fucking great load of cocaine he’s just sent here, yeah
here
, to fucking Pompey. You’re telling me you don’t know anything about this?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You’re off your head.’

‘Bollocks, I’m off my head. I’m just telling you, Baz, I haven’t the first fucking clue what you’re on about. I remember this bloke … Rikki, whatever his name is. Tall guy? Ponytail?’ Mackenzie nodded. ‘So what’s he saying then? And how come it leads to this fucking pantomime?’

Mackenzie couldn’t believe his ears. At length he began to laugh. Then he looked at West.

‘Fuck me, you have to hand it to him, don’t you? They always said he was good, never lost his nerve, but shit …’ He turned back to Winter. ‘You know something, mush? You’re wasted here. You should be in Hollywood, performance like this.’

West took a step forward. For the second time Mackenzie motioned him to stay put. Winter wanted to know about the cocaine. Was this a wholesale deal? With Bazza’s name on the label?

‘You have to be fucking joking.’

‘What are we talking about then?’

‘We’re talking about a scumbag Scouser called Terry Byrne. You’ll know young Terry. Terry’s an ambitious kid. He’s got the balls for the business but he’s stupid too. In fact he’s so stupid he puts down a whack of money for a couple of kilos from Cambados and never realises he’s got the Filth all over him. They obviously tracked the stuff to Bilbao. They were probably on the fucking ferry. They certainly knew it was coming because they pulled a guy on the road down the west somewhere and had the lot off him. Now our Rikki doesn’t care because he’s already been paid but he’s a nice man, Rikki, and when he gets a phone call this morning about a load of numpty dealers getting themselves lifted in Plymouth or some fucking place he starts putting two and two together. And you know the conclusion he comes to? You know where the finger points? At you, my old mate.
Eez a cop, that man. I tell you already. I tell you before. Ee comes down here. Ee asks the questions. Ee talks to people. And then ee knows …’

Winter shook his head wearily. Bazza’s Spanish accent was crap. So was the conclusion he’d come to.

‘You’re way out of line, Baz. This would be a joke if it wasn’t so sad.’

‘
Sad?
I don’t believe this.’

‘Well you’d better start trying, my son. Do you know what I’ve given up for you? For this charade? I’ve given up the best years of my life. I’ve given up a job I loved. I’ve given up a job I did better than any other cunt in this city. And for what? For this? To get myself in Westie’s fucking
scrapbook
?’

West started to growl. Mackenzie told him to shut up. Then he turned back to Winter.

‘You were thrown out, mush. You were in the fucking gutter. You told me yourself. They couldn’t wait to get rid of you.’

‘Sure, of course I was thrown out. But you know what they’re doing now? They’re re-employing civvies, ex-coppers, on CID. Why? Because no one wants to be a detective any more.’

‘You’re telling me you wanted to go back to the job?’

‘No, I’m telling you I
could
have done. In time they’d have had me back. Not in uniform. Not with a warrant card. But as a civvy. I could have done that. It would have been possible. But not any longer. Not after I signed up with your lot. Once that got around I was dead in the fucking water. That’s one reason you’re just plain wrong, Baz.’

‘You want to tell me another?’

‘Yeah. You really think I’d be silly enough to blow a load of cocaine from
Cambados
? When I’ve talked to this Rikki? When I know he doesn’t trust a word I say? When I know he’s just itching to drop me in it? That tells me a lot, Baz. And one of the things it tells me is you should have looked harder at the goods before you bought.’

‘What goods?’

‘Me, Baz. I don’t know what game you were playing but if this is really the kind of bloke you think I am then it doesn’t say much for your fucking judgement, does it?’

Mackenzie took a tiny step back. There was just a hint of confusion in his eyes.

‘You’re a disgrace,’ he said. ‘And you’re a fucking grass.’

‘You’re right, Baz, I
am
a disgrace. I’m a bent copper. And I was silly enough to believe all those promises you made.’

‘Yeah. All the stuff about coming on board, about going legit, about the stuff we could do together, about
opportunities.
But it’s not about that at all, is it? It’s about you being as bent and paranoid as ever. Me? I should never have got involved. Not if I wanted to avoid drivel like this.’

Winter tightened the belt on his dressing gown. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Mackenzie for a second. By the window, West stirred.

‘The cunt’s lying,’ he said.

Mackenzie wasn’t so sure. Winter could sense his uncertainty.

‘If you’ve got this right,’ he said to Mackenzie, ‘then you’re talking big-time U/C, covert operations, the lot. I can see why you might think that. I can see where this phone call you got from Rikki might have led. You think I’ve stitched you up. You think I’m part of some monster fucking plan to worm my way into the organisation, to nose around, to find out where the bodies are buried. If all that was true, then one of the things I’ve got to maintain is my cover. Right?’

Mackenzie nodded, said nothing.

‘So if that’s true, if that’s the case, if that’s the way it happens in real life, then what the fuck am I doing pulling a stroke like Cambados? Knowing full well you’ll find out? Is that some clever double bluff? Or might you just be looking at the wrong bloke? Go on, Baz, do yourself a favour, work it out. Of course I’m bent. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. But I’m not stupid. Or at least not
that
stupid.’

Mackenzie was frowning now. He looked away for a moment, avoiding Westie’s glare.

‘You’re a clever fucker,’ he said softly. ‘I grant you that.’

‘Thanks, Baz. But that’s not the issue, is it? We’re talking something else here. We’re talking about me doing some kind of undercover number on you. And then you sussing it.’

‘Too fucking right, mush. That’s what they’re all saying. That’s what they’re all telling me.’

‘Then get on with it.’ Winter nodded at West. ‘Or piss off and let me get to bed.’

There was a long silence. West was staring down at the TV. The lions had given up on the antelope. Finally, Mackenzie turned away.

‘Show him, Westie.’

With some reluctance West extracted an envelope from his pocket and tossed it towards Winter. Looking at it on the carpet, Winter knew exactly what was inside.

‘Go on, mush. Open it.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I thought you might need a little reminder.’

Winter hesitated a moment longer, then shrugged and retrieved the envelope. Inside, as he’d expected, was a sheaf of photos. He flicked quickly through them. Mackenzie was watching his face, happy to be back in the driving seat.

‘Are we cushti now? Only I took the liberty of showing a couple of the best shots to Misty. And you know what she did? She laughed like a drain.’ He took a step closer. When Winter offered the envelope back, he shook his head. He had his hand on Winter’s arm now. He gave it a little squeeze. ‘They’re yours, Paul. I’ve got loads more. You OK with that? Only if you’re not, I’d hate to have to go through all this again.’

He gazed at Winter a moment longer, then summoned West with a brisk nod. Winter was still rooted to the carpet, still holding the envelope, when he heard the front door click shut behind them. Then came the sound of footsteps disappearing down the corridor towards the lift.

Winter closed his eyes, felt blindly for the edge of the sofa, then changed his mind. The bathroom floor was still wet. He stood in front of the basin, eyeing his face in the mirror, then the trembling in his limbs swamped the rest of his body, and he just had time for his hands to find the cold rim of the lavatory bowl before it was too late.

Minutes later he struggled to his feet again, ignoring the trill of the phone.

FRIDAY, 8 SEPTEMBER 2006.
09.25

 

Faraday and Barrie were driving up to Winchester. The meeting at HQ was due to start in twenty minutes’ time and Willard was extremely rough with anyone who turned up late. Barrie was behind the wheel, one eye on the rear-view mirror. His Rover was nearly as old as Faraday’s Mondeo. At 95 mph, it felt less than happy.

Barrie glanced briefly across at Faraday.

‘I talked to the Duty Inspector up at Bitterne this morning. He’s had a couple of area cars out, just like we asked. Been round the whole patch, especially the more promising bits.’

‘And?’

‘Nothing. People just don’t drive brand new Mercedes sports coupés in Thornhill Park. That’s him speaking, not me.’

‘Lock-ups? Someone’s garage?’

‘That’s possible, I suppose, but the more I think about it, the more I’m sure the vehicle was nicked for resale, maybe a dealer, maybe a private buyer, someone already lined up. But are we really trying to put this same guy alongside Mallinder? I just don’t see it.’

Faraday’s attention was caught by a kestrel hovering over the scrubland at the edge of the motorway. A second later it was behind them.

‘So how do we explain the CCTV sightings on Monday night and Tuesday morning?’ he said at length. ‘We’re talking the same kid, as far as I can see. The one in the hoodie.’

‘That’s a supposition, Joe. There’s no proof, no hard evidence, and even if there was I’m still not convinced.’

‘No?’

‘No.’ He squeezed another five mph out of the Rover, and then crossed two traffic lanes, braking for the exit to Winchester. ‘Say this kid, whoever he was, had been looking around Port Solent, doing a recce, sorting out what was on offer? Monday night, the night of the murder, he spends some time making himself a list. The Mercedes obviously figures on that list. He pre-sells, finds himself a buyer, maybe even lays hands on some keys from a bent dealer. Whatever. A couple of nights later he pays a return visit, has the car away in the middle of the night and flogs it before we have a chance to get anywhere near him. Who knows, maybe he even knew about Mallinder from the papers or the telly. There were shots of the house everywhere by Wednesday night and the Mercedes was in all of them. Nicking it would have been easy.’

Faraday nodded. They’d slowed now on the long approach to headquarters. Forty-five mph felt like walking speed.

‘There’s another possibility,’ he said at length. ‘There was something in the Mercedes that was important. Important enough to risk going back and nicking the car.’

‘So why didn’t they nick it when they did Mallinder?’ Barrie still wasn’t convinced. ‘Or are these guys just forgetful? This isn’t amateur night, Joe. This is a class job.’

Faraday conceded the point with a nod. Then grabbed the door handle as Barrie lurched into the turn off the main road.

‘So what happened to Mallinder’s car keys?’ He shot Barrie a look. ‘Or is that another coincidence?’

 

The office of the Head of CID lay on the third floor of the big headquarters building. Willard was already in the chair at the head of the conference table. Faraday recognised the civvy who headed the Media Department, and offered a nod to the D/I in charge of forensics force-wide.