The Price Of Darkness (52 page)

He thought the world of him
. Julie Greetham had used exactly the same phrase, describing the way Charlie felt about her father.

‘When’s he back? Sam?’

‘Around two this afternoon. He comes home for a late lunch. You’re bound to catch him then.’

Suttle thanked her and looked up to find Faraday at the open office door. He was talking to Glen Thatcher. According to the Outside Enquiries D/S, the two D/Cs had been in Fishguard for a couple of hours now, hoping Dermott O’Keefe might turn up. They’d found a parking space across the road from the boarding house and left a Positivo baseball cap on the dashboard. The cap had come from the boot of the Toyota. If O’Keefe was really heading for Fishguard prior to a ferry crossing, he’d know the car belonged to Freeth.

‘So where are the lads?’

‘In a café down the road. They’ve got line of sight on the Toyota. Turns out there was also a mobile in the boot, hidden under the spare wheel. Full marks to the blokes for finding it.’

‘The mobile belongs to Freeth?’

‘I’d have thought so. It seems to be brand new. There’s nothing on the SIM card, no numbers stored. You just wonder why he bought it.’

‘Where is it now? This mobile?’

‘The blokes have got it.’ He grinned. ‘And it’s switched on.’

Faraday’s grunt appeared to suggest approval. He stepped into the office, shut the door behind him.

‘Anything new?’ He was looking at Barber’s paperwork strewn across Suttle’s desk.

Suttle told him about the psychiatric unit. At first he thought Faraday hadn’t heard him properly. He’d sunk into his chair, letting his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling.

‘Say that again,’ he murmured.

‘Frank Greetham was a patient in The Orchards for about three weeks. According to D/C Barber’s notes, his visitors included his daughter and Charlie Freeth. They went to see him more or less every night. There’s a note here about one of the nurses. Apparently she said that was unusual.’

‘And this was a
Polygon
action?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did anyone follow it up?’

‘Not that I can see.’ Suttle nodded at the paperwork.

‘Have you talked to Barber?’

‘No, boss.’

‘Do it. Now.’

Suttle lifted the phone. Tracy Barber was on another call. The third time he tried, the line was free. Suttle explained what he was after. Barber said she’d check with the incident room and call him back.

‘Yeah. Quick as you can, Trace.’

The phone rang within minutes. According to an assistant in the incident room, neither Julie nor Freeth himself had been interviewed. They were both on the to-do list of actions.

Faraday was monitoring the conversation from the other side of the desk. The Orchards was next door to St James’ Hospital.

‘Ask her whether the hospital has CCTV. Ask her about the grounds. Ask her about the derelict villa where they found the bike.’

Suttle caught his eye, grinned, then relayed the question. A series of nods raised an answering smile from Faraday.

‘The answer’s yes, boss. There’s nothing that covers the villa but there’s yards of other footage. They’ve been through it all.’

‘And?’

‘She’s got a list as long as your arm for people wandering around in the grounds. This kind of weather, everyone’s at it. She says tracing them has been a nightmare.’

‘But we know what Freeth looks like. We can check out the footage ourselves.’

‘Of course, boss, but there’s a problem. She’s saying the tapes are wiped after a month. They don’t go back as far as July.’

‘Shit.’

‘Exactly.’

Suttle mumbled a thank you to Barber and put the phone down. Faraday was looking at the ceiling again.

‘Tracy sends her regards, boss,’ Suttle said at last. ‘And she wants to know what we’re up to.’

‘I bet.’ Faraday reached across, helping himself to Barber’s notes. ‘So what possessed you to go through this lot?’

‘Something in one of the statements that first day. It’s been bothering me for a while.’

‘Which first day?’

‘The day the minister got shot. I didn’t get to read it for a bit, and by that time we were being shipped up here, but it stuck with me, like it does sometimes.’

‘And what was it?’

‘It was the woman pushing her baby home from the nursery. You probably don’t remember. She was about to cross a road. Greyshott Road. She’d stopped on the pavement to let a motorbike go past and she made a point of saying how small the bloke on the back was. I was struck by it. That’s all. Some of the witnesses at the scene had said exactly the same.’

‘So?’

‘So I tucked it away, like you do. And then I began to think about the MO, how someone had thought this whole thing through - no shell casings at the scene, no CCTV footage, lying low the way they did, lots of local knowledge. What does that remind you of? Just a week beforehand?’

Faraday raised an eyebrow.

‘You’re telling me Freeth killed the minister? With O’Keefe on the back?’

‘I’m saying it’s possible, boss.’

‘But why would he ever do that?’

‘I’ve no idea. Except that he’s got the skills. Think about it, boss. I wasn’t there yesterday. I’ve no idea how he behaved in interview. But everything I know about this man tells me two things. Number one, he’s incredibly meticulous, incredibly sorted, incredibly
good
at doing what he does. Number two, he knows it.’

‘Right on both counts,’ Faraday conceded. ‘The man’s arrogant. He can do no wrong. But this is old news. That’s the way he was in the job. That’s why no one was sorry when he jacked it in. And that’s why we’ve probably got six hours before we have to let him go.’

‘The Superintendent won’t authorise an extension?’

‘I can’t see it. We need more evidence. This is terrific …’ Faraday gestured at the notes ‘… and so is what lies behind it. But it’s speculation, Jimmy. It’s guesswork. The Superintendent’s a hard bastard.’ He glanced up at the clock on the wall. ‘We need more.’

 

Winter did his best to fend Mackenzie off. The phone call came in at just gone nine. Bazza wanted to know how last night had turned out. Had the Pole been happy to join forces? Had he seen the logic behind bringing the two events together? Might he even chuck a little money in the pot? Winter ran a hand over his battered face. He was still in bed, still trying to work out whether he could risk another couple of ibuprofen on top of the fistful he’d swallowed already. The bathroom cabinet seemed a bus ride away. Pain made you lazy.

‘So what’s the score?’ Bazza wanted an answer.

‘Early days, Baz,’ Winter muttered, aware of the thickness in his voice.

‘What?’

‘I said early days. He wouldn’t commit.’

‘What’s the matter with you, Paul? Forgotten to put your teeth in?’

‘It’s nothing. I just—’

‘Bollocks, it’s nothing. What have you been up to? You sound terrible, mush. You sound fucking
old
.’

‘God forbid, Baz.’ Winter tried to force a laugh. ‘Me? Never better.’

‘You’re lying, mush. Stay there. You in bed or what?’

He didn’t wait for an answer and Winter groaned, staring at the mobile, only too aware of where the next hour or so would probably lead.

Mackenzie, when he arrived, had brought Marie with him. Winter let them in. He’d managed to struggle his way into Maddox’s dressing gown. Below the knee, his bare legs were purpled with bruising.

‘Paul!’

Marie was in the bathroom within seconds, running water from the hot tap, filling the basin. She called for cotton wool. Soap was in the shower tray, TCP in the bathroom cabinet. She sat Winter on the loo then began to sponge his face. There was still blood crusted on his chin and cheeks. One eye had closed overnight and his swollen lips made it hard to keep his mouth closed.

‘You need a dentist, Paul.’ She was probing along the line of broken teeth. Through his one good eye Winter could see the concern on her face. She turned to Mackenzie.

‘You didn’t know about this?’ It sounded like an accusation.

‘Of course I didn’t.’

‘Paul?’ She wanted to know what had happened.

‘Little accident, love,’ he muttered.

‘Accident, bollocks.’ It was Mackenzie. ‘Tell me, mush. Tell me what happened.’

Winter shook his head. In moments of fitful sleep he’d dreamed about this very situation. Winter would hold his ground. Mackenzie would call for Westie. The whole thing would kick off again and Winter would end up without a face at all. Welcome to Bazzaland.

‘A misunderstanding,’ he managed at last. ‘Nothing to get worked up about.’

‘You walked into a lamp post? You fell out of the bath? You got hit by a meteor? What kind of twat do you think I am? I ask you to go and see our new friend. Next thing I know you look like something out of the
Hammer House of Horror
. Our Polish mate’s extremely heavy. Are we talking some kind of connection here or am I just imagining it? Only this could be quite serious.’

‘Yeah?’ Winter managed a smile. ‘You know something, Baz?’

‘No. Fucking tell me.’

‘That woman Brodie. I’ve worked it out. She’d have had a plan.’ Winter had both eyes shut now while Marie swabbed his face with TCP. Mackenzie waited until she’d finished.

‘What plan?’

‘She’d have wanted to have provoked a war.’ He gestured up at his face. ‘Something like this.’

‘So it
was
the Pole. Is that what you’re telling me?’

‘Yeah.’ Winter nodded. ‘Of course it was.’

Marie had left to put the kettle on. Bazza settled himself on the edge of the bath. He was like a kid. He was getting excited again. Winter could feel it. He explained about the minibus parked outside the newspaper offices. The thought of half a dozen naked Russian slappers put a grin on Bazza’s face.

‘Who organised that? You?’

‘Westie.’

‘No way.’ Bazza shook his head. ‘Westie wouldn’t have the brain for it.’

‘He did, Baz. I’ve seen the booking form.’

‘Fuck me. Westie? A stunt like that? Amazing.’ He was eyeing Winter’s face again. ‘So the Pole took it out on you, is that what you’re saying?’

‘Yeah, but that’s not the point. The point, Baz, is this. You’re safe on the van, they can’t do you for that, but if you take it any further with the Pole, do anything
really
silly, then Brodie will be in the medals.’

‘I’m not with you.’

‘They’ll expect you to react. They’ll be waiting. They’ll mount a fucking huge investigation and then do you for GBH, conspiracy, perverting the course of justice - whatever. Then they’ll go to town on the narcotics side of the business, turn something up, and once that happens they’ll take it all off you, every last penny.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘Because I do, Baz.’ Winter’s hand found Mackenzie’s arm. He gave it a squeeze. ‘Just trust me, eh?’

 

To Faraday’s relief, the implications of Suttle’s exchanges with Tracy Barber appeared not to have spread to Martin Barrie. The Detective Superintendent’s call found Faraday at the Bridewell, preparing for the next interview with Freeth.

‘How’s it going, Joe?’

‘It’s not, sir.’

Faraday summarised yesterday’s lack of progress. During the opening phase of the interview Freeth had blocked off every investigative avenue. He hadn’t been at Port Solent on the night of the murder. He didn’t keep company with Dermott O’Keefe. Only when it came to his feelings about Mallinder had Freeth opened up.

‘Hatred? Bit strong, isn’t it?’ There was a hint of doubt in Barrie’s voice.

‘It was a boast, sir. And he knows it winds us up. He thinks he’s got the result he wants - Mallinder dead - without the chore of having to stand trial. We know he did it. He knows he did it. And worst of all he knows we know he did it. In any other context I’d call it harassment. On his part.’

It was a poor joke but it drew a chuckle from Barrie.

‘So what now, Joe?’

‘We persevere. There are one or two angles we might be able to develop. We think he booked into a B & B at Fishguard under an assumed name, probably to link up with the lad O’Keefe. We haven’t attacked him with that yet.’

‘When does the clock stop?’

‘Four ’o clock this afternoon. I’ve warned the Superintendent we might be troubling him for an extension but we’ll need something else in the pot.’

‘And have you got it?’

‘No sir, not yet.’

 

D/C Jimmy Suttle was sitting in a management office in the B&Q Superstore. The retail park lay in the shadow of Fratton Park. Sam Taylor, quite literally, lived round the corner.

Summoned to the office by tannoy, he knocked at the door and stepped in. In his knee-length work coat, Suttle thought, he might still have been the friendly face behind the counter at Gullifant’s. The manager offered them both coffee and said there was no rush for Sam to get back to his section. Take as long as you need.

Suttle asked which section Sam was working on.

‘Flatpacks.’ He was looking worried. ‘What’s this about?’

‘Frank Greetham. I was talking to your wife this morning. We need to know whether he was ever treated at St James.’

‘Yes, he was in that new unit, The Orchards.’ He paused, trying to recall the dates. ‘June time, it was. A couple of weeks. Maybe more.’

‘And you went to see him? Paid him a visit?’

‘Twice. It’s not a place you’d be keen on. The set-up is impressive and the staff do their best but …’ he shook his head ‘… you wouldn’t choose that kind of company.’

‘Did Frank have other visitors? To your knowledge?’

‘Yes. His daughter and that bloke of hers, Charlie, were there the time I went in the evening. I remember they wanted to take him out, give him a bit of fresh air. The weather was lovely, still hot that time in the evening, but the nurses wouldn’t have it. I don’t know whether they thought Julie was going to nick off with him but it was a shame. Banged up all day inside no wonder he was depressed, poor old sod.’