heavy-handed about it and upset his widow, you could easily have tainted valuable evidence. You had no right, no fucking right.’
Morton’s false smile fell from his face instantaneously. His expression hardened.
‘ And you, DS Christie, have no right, no fucking right whatsoever, to talk to a senior officer like that. I’ve a good mind to slap you on paper, but from what I gather, discipline enquiries are not unknown to you.’
‘ I personally don’t give a flying fuck what you do, Mr Morton. You and your elite squad of wankers are bang out of order. We’ll probably never know what damage you’ve done. What the hell were you looking for that was so important anyway?’
Gallagher, the DI, who had silently witnessed the exchange, cut in. ‘I can answer that, boss. After all, it was me who went to the house with DC Robson here. We thought he’d gone home with some important documents that we needed for this investigation. Some house-to-house logs he’d been doing.’
‘ House-to-house logs?’ said Henry incredulously. ‘What the hell was he doing on house-to-house? That’s for numpties!’
‘ He was assigned to my murder squad, and how I use my officers is my business, not yours,’ Morton said stiffly. ‘Now, Henry,’ he went on placatingly, ‘if we’ve trodden on your toes, we apologise, but we needed to find what he had. We did it carefully and with consideration and compassion for Mrs Luton’s feelings. There’s no chance we spoiled any evidence and if you feel Craig and Siobhan here were heavy-handed, I’ll go round and see Mrs Luton and apologise. How’s that?’
Shut up Henry, he told himself. Take a breath. Count to ten. This man’s a Chief Super. He can knee-cap you if he wants.
‘ All right,’ Henry accepted. ‘Did you find the logs?’
‘ No,’ said Gallagher. ‘We’ll simply have to revisit all those homes again.’
‘ Unlucky,’ Henry could not resist saying.
There was a moment of strained silence. Gallagher’s eyes narrowed slightly as he weighed Henry up.
The smile that was originally on Morton’s face reappeared. To his two officers he said, ‘Leave us,’ and flicked them away with a wave of his hand. Gallagher nodded. He picked up a pile of papers, his eyes never leaving Henry’s. Siobhan smiled nicely at him. Then they both went.
The two HOLMES operators resumed their tasks.
‘ Now then Henry,’ said Morton. ‘Come and sit over here.’
He guided Henry to two chairs next to a table on which was a coffee filtering machine. Henry smelled the rich aroma of a newly brewed pot and his body demanded a cup. Fortunately Morton poured one for him. He handed him the cup and both men sat down.
‘ I’ll come straight to the point, lad. As you know, life goes on in this job of ours. When a vacancy arises, it gets filled, however it occurred. And sadly we now have a vacancy on this squad.’
‘ You mean Geoff Driffield — your guy in the newsagents?’
Morton nodded. ‘We need people of a high calibre, as you well know. We have an enviable reputation of crime-busting to maintain and only the best will do for us.’
He regarded Henry with meaning.
‘ You mean me?’
Morton nodded. ‘You fit the bill. I want you on the squad.’
Chapter Thirteen
A certain club in Manchester city centre on the periphery of China Town played host to John Rider that evening. He arrived shortly after eleven and established himself in a position at the bar which gave him an unobstructed view of everyone entering and leaving. He ordered a pint of Boddington’s bitter as a gesture to Manchester, and after a long satisfying swig, began to sip it slowly.
The whole place was a dive. An unprepossessing doorway at street level, which could easily be missed, led down a tight set of steps into the foyer. The cashier was in a booth protected by armoured glass and two bouncers stood nearby — dinner-jacketed, bow-tied, black-shoed, fingers interlocked at groin level, thumbs circling.
The admission was five pounds — cheap for Manchester — the facilities limited and the drinks expensive. They were served from a three-sided bar. The dance floor was minute, or intimate depending on your point of view, and music pounded down from speakers suspended precariously from the ceiling. The disco lights ensured it was difficult to see the fixtures and fittings, which were in poor condition. Carpets were tatty, walls peeling.
Just like Rider’s own club, money needed to be spent.
But unlike Rider’s, the place was packed with punters.
Rider saw her arrive. Toni Thomas.
She was stunning. Long blonde hair, beautifully made-up face, off-the-shoulder strapless dress in glistening blue which stopped just below decency to reveal long shapely legs in silver stockings. The front of the dress plunged into a cleavage to be proud of.
She came in and drifted around the place like a goddess. All eyes followed her progress. She waved with soft gestures, acknowledged looks with pert smiles, some flirting, dainty laughter.
She was beautiful.
Rider almost fell for her there and then.
Toni Thomas, the person who in the last fifteen years had been Munrow’s accountant and who Rider believed had kept some of his businesses going for him whilst he was inside. The legitimate ones, that is the off-licence and the two launderettes. The person who might know where Munrow was to be found.
Because Rider wanted to pay him a visit.
He watched her smooch onto the dance floor with a man. The music had turned slow and sensuous. She unashamedly rubbed her genital area up and down the man’s thigh, kissed him, touched his backside and squeezed his balls. His face was a picture of ecstasy.
When the music went up-tempo they came off the floor hand in hand, then parted company.
Toni went towards the toilets, straight past Rider without noticing him.
He put his glass down, slid off the bar stool and pushed his painful way through everyone to the Gents.
The toilets were apparently empty.
They were grim and unsanitary. The urinals were cracked and germ-laden. The cubicles looked ready to collapse like a house of cards. The stench hit Rider’s nostrils. His face curled up in disgust.
Only one of the cubicles had the door closed.
Rider crept softly along the tiled floor, stopping outside the cubicle. He could hear rustling inside and some softly spoken whispers.
Two voices. Toni was not alone.
Rider laid a hand on the door and tested it gently. Locked.
For a moment he hesitated and thought about his actions. Something he would not have done ten years earlier.
He knew the soft approach would be useless. The only time for questions would be when Toni’s head was being forced down the U-bend of the toilet and she was almost drowning in shit. Violence was the only method these people knew how to respond to. The quiet word, the exchange of pleasantries, was alien to them. Seen as spineless. But to have your head rammed down a bog, boy, they really understood and responded to that.
Rider nearly turned away and went home to his poxy little bedsits and his dreams of a big-time strip club. That’s where he knew he should be, where he felt comfortable. This world wasn’t his any more. He’d grown out of it.
Then he steeled himself and tried to forget the pain his body was still experiencing.
He was going to do it.
Shuffling back a few paces, he kicked the cubicle door open. It flew back with hardly any resistance and revealed the sordid tableau beyond.
Toni was kneeling in front of a man who was sitting on the toilet, his trousers down around his ankles. It was a different guy to the one on the dance floor. His hard cock was three-quarters out of sight in Toni’s mouth. Very
