Then there was the other matter… Munrow.
Conroy shifted uneasily. He could still feel the muzzle of the gun pressed into the back of his head. His ear throbbed like hell. That was the last thing he needed at the moment — a fucking gaolbird starting a war just because he felt he’d had his nose put out of joint. It’d be more than his nose when Conroy finished with him. It’d be his brain.
‘ You callin’ Dunny, boss?’ Conroy’s driver asked over his shoulder, interrupting the thought process.
‘ Shit — yes.’ Conroy sprang forwards. ‘Gimme the phone.’
The driver handed the mobile over to him. Conroy punched a number in.
‘ It’s off,’ he said. ‘Yeah, you heard right. Bring the stuff back.’
The next ten minutes were very uncomfortable for all parties. Not because of the nature of the enquiry, simply because Rider hated to be in the presence of police officers, particularly detectives, and resented answering questions, incriminating or otherwise, merely on a point of principle. And he particularly resented Henry Christie, whom he disliked on sight.
To Rider, Christie had an aura about him that the rather plodding Seymour didn’t possess. It was nothing to do with the way he dressed because for a detective, Christie dressed quite conservatively. Nor was it the way he spoke, as Christie’s voice was quite monotone.
It was that he oozed inner savvy. It was the look in his eyes, the way they constantly took measure, occasionally narrowing to a slit as they ran over Rider. The way he listened to answers, but at the same time his mind seemed to be considering something of greater importance. It was the way he assessed Rider, chewed over what information there was to be had, what information was hidden, and weighed him up. Probably coming to the right conclusion.
Basically, he unnerved Rider.
From the other side, Henry did not like Rider either. There was an immediate animosity between them. Not that Henry cared. There was friction between himself and a lot of crims. It was a good thing, he thought. Kept them on their toes.
But this man Rider…
As he answered the questions, Henry tried to analyse him. Something about the guy made Henry do a double-take. What the hell was it? Henry could feel there was something more to this man, who on the face of it came across as a middle-aged, overweight, seedy club and doss-house owner.
Henry took a few minutes to discover what it was.
Then he knew.
He’d only ever met a few other such people in his life and he shifted slightly on the bar stool, his arse literally twitching.
Rider was no common criminal. This man was, or had been, big time. Top notch. There weren’t too many about. Some liked to think they were, but mostly they were nothing. This man tried to cover it in bluster and bad temper, but just below the surface Henry could see exactly what he was.
And it was in the eyes, too. They always gave the game away. There was that violence lurking there which said, ‘I could kill you, cop, and not give a toss.’
But it was rusty. Henry could see that, too. This man had been out of the game for a while, but it was still in his blood. He could be very dangerous again.
Yes, thought Henry, Rider was something special. His mouth went dry at the thought.
Now he wanted to know everything about this man, the sooner the better. He cursed his lack of professionalism for not knowing already.
Rider responded begrudgingly to the detectives’ questions.
Yes, the dead girl’s description sounded like one of his new tenants.
Couldn’t remember her name at the moment; it would be on the rent book. From Blackburn, he thought. No, didn’t know very much about her. No, that wasn’t unusual. He was a landlord, not a fucking snoop. So long as the rent came, he didn’t give a toss. Yes, top flat, number twelve. Came in two days ago. Yes, they could go in and have a look round the flat. Probably wouldn’t be locked. She didn’t bring much stuff with her. She was alone. Was that all? Bye bye.
Henry thanked him. As he did he recalled the statement taken from the girl at the zoo. It mentioned a big red car taking off after the shooting. There was a big red Jaguar parked outside the club.
Henry could picture Rider involved in something like that.
‘ Oh, by the way,’ he said, sliding off his bar stool onto his feet. ‘Have you visited the zoo today?’
‘ No.’ Too quick, very tense all of a sudden.
‘ Let’s hope you haven’t,’ said Henry, ‘because if you have and I find out I’ll be back here faster than shit off a shovel.’ He spoke very matter-of factly and in a way that Rider found intimidating.
‘ Don’t know what the hell you’re on about.’
‘ See you now,’ Henry said affably.
He and Seymour walked out.
Rider remained at the bar. Jacko and Isa materialised out of the woodwork. Jacko stayed behind the bar. Isa asked him what it was all about.
He gave a sneer. ‘Nothing — just one of my tenants. Nothing to worry about.’ But he was worried, and frightened. ‘Fuck that bastard Conroy!’ he said between gritted teeth and slammed the bar top with his fist. ‘Fuck him for getting me involved again.’
Out on the street Henry took the number of the Jag and radioed it through for a PNC check.
The two detectives got into their car, an unmarked Rover Two series. ‘He didn’t even ask “Why?” when I mentioned the zoo,’ Henry said. ‘I find that intriguing. I mean, if a cop asked you if you’d been somewhere, surely you’d-’
Henry’s audible musing was interrupted by a very garbled message on the personal radio. A patrol was shouting, but most of the words were impossible to make out — with the exception of, ‘Assistance! Assistance! Officer down!’
Chapter Six
‘ We’ve to take the stuff back to the warehouse — the deal’s off for some friggin’ reason,’ Dundaven said to his passenger, whose name was McCrory.
He ended the call on the mobile and tossed it onto the dashboard of the Range Rover. They had been mooching around Blackpool, killing time in amongst all the tourists, pretending to be trippers themselves, whilst waiting for the call from Conroy. The theory was that they would look less suspicious on the move rather than parked up in some back alley somewhere. Two guys sitting in a motor always attracts attention.
The mobile had chirped whilst they were driving south down the Promenade from Gynn Square, stuck in the flow of traffic.
However, McCrory breathed a sigh of relief at the news. ‘Thank fuck for that, Dunny.’ He was getting decidedly jumpy, trolling around the place with enough firepower in the back to arm a unit of the SAS. ‘Let’s get the crap outta here.’
Stopping and searching persons and vehicles is one of the most fundamental functions of a police officer. Its effectiveness in preventing and detecting crime cannot be over-stressed. Stop-searches result in thousands of arrests each year, mostly for minor criminal and drug-possession offences, as well as more spectacular ones. The Yorkshire Ripper, the Black Panther and members of the IRA responsible for planting bombs in the north of England were all arrested by officers exercising their basic powers.
Many officers stop-search using the numbers game: if enough people and vehicles are stopped, the theory goes, sooner or later there will be a result.
Some officers simply have a nose, an eye, an ear — an instinct — for pulling the right person or vehicle at the right time.
