The Price Of Darkness (42 page)

‘Does Mackenzie know that?’

‘Mackenzie knows the man’s a villain. He knows he deals in trafficked women. That would make him a target for us, obviously.’

‘I understand Dobroslaw’s backing this rival event. Is that true?’

‘Yes, sir. He’s put money in. He wouldn’t say how much.’

‘And Mackenzie’s reaction?’

‘He’s keen the two events don’t clash.’

‘How keen?’

‘He wants a clear run. For his brother’s sake.’

‘And Dobroslaw?’

‘He sympathised. Poles are very tight with each other. Big on all that family stuff.’

‘A meeting of minds then? Peace and love?’

‘Absolutely. Much to Bazza’s surprise.’

‘Bazza?’

‘Mackenzie, sir. We’re mates these days.’

‘So I gather.’ Willard took a mouthful of tea. ‘I have to be frank with you, Paul. We need to be very clear about where this operation is going.’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘My presumption has to do with Mackenzie. He’s easily needled. Am I right?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘So, given the right circumstances, we might find ourselves dealing with someone who’d lose control. Is that fair?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Brodie?’

‘I agree, sir. Mackenzie’s a firework. Point him in the right direction and anything could happen.’

‘And Dobroslaw?’ Willard was still talking to Brodie.

‘I’d have said that was the right direction. In fact I’m sure it’s the right direction. I was at the hotel yesterday evening, Mackenzie’s place, the Trafalgar. People couldn’t stop talking about it.’

‘It?’

‘Dobroslaw. What Mackenzie wanted to do to him. How he wanted to teach him a lesson or two. Break up his business empire and help himself.’

‘And this was after yesterday’s meet?’

‘Has to be.’

‘But you just told us fuck all happened.’ Willard was looking at Winter again. ‘Didn’t you?’

Winter said nothing. He’d taken Brodie’s question on the phone last night at face value. She’d asked about the meeting with Dobroslaw and he’d been careful to play the whole thing down. Now this.

‘Well?’ Willard wanted an answer.

Finally Winter stirred, shifting his weight in the chair. He said he had a question to ask. Not so much a question, more a statement of fact.

‘Facts would be good.’ Willard wasn’t smiling. ‘We like facts.’

‘OK, sir. Fact number one. Of course Bazza is pissed off. Fact two, the Pole won’t shift. Fact three, Bazza’s liable to do something about it. Fact four, whatever he does will almost definitely be illegal. Presuming we arrest him, and presuming he’s made some kind of criminal gain, that takes us, in the end, to court. So what happens then? Bazza will have sussed us. His brief will take us apart. Why? Because the whole thing, the whole situation, was a sting. We set it up. We set them at each other’s throats. End of story. Case thrown out.’

‘You’re telling me you’ve lost faith in the operation?’

‘I’m telling we’re in danger of fucking up, sir. The last thing we need is a knock-back in court.’

‘And you really think there’s a danger of that?’

‘I’m sure of it. Inciting Mackenzie to violence. Case closed.’

‘But we haven’t, have we? That’s exactly what we haven’t done. It wasn’t us that killed Mackenzie’s brother. It wasn’t our idea to organise this jet ski thing. And neither did we have anything to do with the Pole’s event. This has fallen into our laps. Take our interest away, our involvement, and these two guys would still be head to head. We’re
lucky
, not complicit.’

‘I don’t agree, sir.’

‘I can see that. But factually, Paul, you’re wrong. And legally too. As I understand it, this situation has acquired momentum. The snowball’s rolling down the hill. All we have to do is keep the bloody thing in sight. When it comes to the crunch we need to know when and where it’s going to kick off and then the rest is down to us. Facts, Paul. Is that asking too much?’

Winter was robbed of a reply. Willard had thought this thing through. Was this a pep talk or a warning? Winter didn’t know.

Brodie was looking at Winter. There was alarm in her face.

‘You say Mackenzie will have sussed us. How would he do that?’

‘Because we’d end up as witnesses,’ Winter said.

‘Sir?’ She turned to Willard.

‘Absolutely not.’ Willard shook his head. ‘And that’s the beauty of the operation. Mackenzie and the Pole have a ruck. We let it run a bit and then nick them both. After that the pair of you gently disappear. You, Brodie, go back to ordinary duties while Paul here …’ Willard shot Winter a chilly smile ‘… starts a whole new life.’

 

Winter took the call from Suttle when he was back on the Harbour ferry heading for Portsmouth. Suttle had a name for him.

‘What’s that?’

‘Bloke called Charlie Freeth. Thought you might know him.’

‘You’re right, I do. Or did. Why?’

‘I need a bit of a steer. Are you in tonight?’

Winter checked his watch. Nearly seven. He’d have to bin the early pint.

‘Make it eight o’clock,’ he said.

Brodie glanced across. They’d barely said a word since leaving the marina and Winter felt no inclination to put that right. She’d sussed last night that Winter was playing a game of his own and she’d promptly passed the message on. No wonder Willard had been so quick in demanding a meet.

‘Friend?’ Brodie nodded at the mobile.

‘Yeah. Bloke in the job. Trust him with my life.’

 

Jimmy Suttle turned up early. He’d brought a bottle of wine with him and a couple of Elton John CDs his sister was chucking out. Winter already had them both but appreciated the gesture.

‘Are we settling in or what?’ Winter was looking at the wine.

‘I’m driving. Help yourself.’

Winter opened the bottle. Suttle asked for a soft drink.

‘In the kitchen, son. There’s Coke in the bottom of the fridge. Bring a couple of glasses while you’re at it.

Suttle did Winter’s bidding, telling him about the circus that Operation
Polygon
had become. A small army of SB were camping out in Kingston Crescent, and as well as Special Branch there’d been regular state visits from a succession of high-ups in MI5. His own inquiry,
Billhook
, had been banished to the satellite MIR at Fareham nick but on balance he was glad to get out of Pompey. Sharing an office with Faraday, he said, was a bit of a novelty, but after a couple of days he’d even warmed to that.

‘How do you get on with him?’

‘Fine. He’s a funny bugger. If he didn’t trust you, I get the feeling he’d make life bloody difficult. Put in the hours, keep your nose clean, and he pretty much leaves you to it.’

So far, Suttle hadn’t said a word about Bazza Mackenzie, and for that Winter was grateful. Maybe the boy’s decided I’ve retired, Winter thought. Maybe I’ve become someone he feels he ought to visit from time to time. Make sure I’ve got enough food in the fridge. Remind me to check the gas taps last thing at night. On the other hand, he’d mentioned a name on the phone.

‘You’re serious about Charlie Freeth?’

‘Yeah. Absolutely.’

‘How come?’

Suttle explained. Freeth had left the job a couple of years ago and moved into social work. According to a couple of other staff Suttle had managed to talk to at Positivo, the idea that had given birth to the organisation was his.

‘They think he’s bloody good. Sets the bar high, lashings of tough love, all that shit, but he’s got loads of patience and apparently a lot of the kids really take to him. One of the women I talked to wanted to know what kind of copper he’d been. She said she just couldn’t imagine Charlie in uniform.’

‘I’m not surprised. Have you met him?’

‘No, he’s up north somewhere at the moment. What was he like?’

‘As a copper?’

‘Yeah.’

‘He was good. He was a bit of a loner, not too many friends, but that’s no handicap. I worked with him on a couple of jobs … must have been eight, ten years ago. We were both on division then. It was rubbish really, volume crime, kids nicking stereos out of motors, Portsea lads lifting giros off skagged-out junkies. Charlie got in amongst them, took a few scalps. He was a good listener, I remember that. I used to kid him about it. We’d be interviewing some dosser or other down the Bridewell on a Monday morning and Charlie would be in there with me, and the thing was he had this definite way about him. He knew exactly which buttons to press. It never failed. A couple of minutes with Charlie and these wasters were talking fit to bust.’

‘Sounds like you.’

‘Yeah? I’m flattered. But the difference is I always had the impression Charlie meant it. That was his only problem really. He let some of this stuff get to him and once that happens, as we all know, you’re fucked. OK, if it’s a good cause then maybe it’s worth winding yourself up but most of these people were rubbish, real low life, total inadequates, yet Charlie still came out of that interview room banging on about the state of the world. The problem was, he always took things too seriously. In the end a job’s just that. A job. We get these numpties to put themselves on the record. Then we lock them up. Charlie? He just couldn’t see it.’

‘What sort of age are we talking?’

‘Now? He’d be late thirties. The week he jacked it in, he’d just turned thirty-five. He was late entry so to make his twenty-two he needed another ten years or so. I remember him telling me he’d be gaga by then, probably sectioned.’

‘He blamed that on the job?’

‘Definitely. He saw the way it was all going. If the people upstairs wanted to turn him into a social worker, he said, then he’d spare them the fucking trouble.’

‘But that’s exactly what he became. More or less.’

‘Exactly. None of us believed he was serious at the time. He’d been banging on for months about getting down to the roots of the problem. Most of the jobs that came our way were down to kids, you know, fifteen-to-nineteen-year-olds, often younger, and Charlie thought there were cleverer ways of sorting that stuff out without having to chase infant glue-sniffers round Somerstown or Buckland. He was probably right but coppers aren’t built that way. They
love
chasing people round, you know they do. The rest of it, all the compassion bollocks, is dog-wank.’

Suttle smiled. He remembered the kids clinging to each other aboard the tiny squares of rubber matting. Maybe Freeth was right. Maybe Killer Whale was a shorter cut to a better society than a lungful of solvent fumes.

‘He’s gay? Freeth?’

‘Shit, no. Jump anything. Often did.’

‘Was he married?’

‘Twice. Blew it both times.’

‘Kids?’

‘None that I ever knew of.’

‘And do you ever see him now?’

‘Never.’ Winter reached for the bottle and poured himself more wine. ‘But that’s standard MO, isn’t it? You leave the job and as far as everyone else is concerned you’re halfway to the fucking grave. Bless you, son.’ He raised his glass. ‘Here’s to Charlie Freeth.’

MONDAY, 18 SEPTEMBER 2006.
08.55

 

Revived, Suttle thought. Either a couple of days off or the new French girlfriend Faraday barely ever mentioned, or some exotic combination of both. Whatever the reason, the clouds seemed to have parted. There was a lightness in his step, a brightness in his eyes. He was even, for a brief moment or two, humming to himself.

‘Good weekend, boss?’

‘Excellent. We went up London, had a bit of a celebration, ended up at a concert on the Saturday night. There was a Palestinian singer Gabrielle wanted to see. She said she was really good and she was right. The woman was phenomenal. Reem Kelani. Incredible presence, almost operatic.’ He dumped his briefcase on the desk and reached for the Policy Book. He wanted to know about Tile Barn, about Dermott O’Keefe, about developments regarding Stephen Benskin - about everything.

Suttle briefed him, aware of Faraday scribbling himself the odd note.

The warrants for Benskin’s flat and the offices in Croydon had both been executed and Suttle had just received an angry e-mail from his solicitor to prove it. The seized paperwork and the expected billings records remained to be analysed but in the meantime he’d been chasing another lead. When he mentioned Charlie Freeth, Faraday’s head came up.

‘There was a copper called Freeth.’

‘That’s right, boss.’

‘Same bloke? Long spell in CID? Nearly made D/S?’

‘Yeah. Though Winter never mentioned promotion.’

‘You talked to Winter about Freeth?’

‘Yes. He said he was good. Effective. Wanted to make a difference. I think he approved of the guy.’

‘He would. Freeth was Winter with a conscience.’ Faraday paused. ‘And you say Freeth and the youngster were close?’

‘That’s what people tell me.’

‘How close?’

‘Hard to say, boss. It was Freeth who spotted O’Keefe’s potential when he was sent on the course in the summer. It’s Freeth who has the final say on who makes it onto the Junior Leader scheme. Everyone seems to think O’Keefe was a foregone conclusion. Partly because he was so switched on. Partly because he’d caught Freeth’s eye.’

‘What did they mean by that?’

‘Nothing dodgy, boss. I asked the same question myself. Freeth’s got a partner, a woman called Julie. She’s a teacher. Apparently she helps out sometimes with the kids on the courses.’

‘They live together? She and Freeth?’

‘So I gather.’

‘Where?’

‘Here somewhere. I’ve got a number for her. She says Freeth’s away just now. Back tomorrow.’

‘Good.’ Faraday was deep in thought. ‘We’ll need an address. Sort it. Is Dawn Ellis around?’

‘I’ll check.’

Suttle left the room. Seconds later Ellis appeared at the door. Glen Thatcher, she said, had just given her a list of actions. Fingers crossed, she might be back by close of play.