direction of the mortuary — ‘and Mark Carter’s mother — ’ he pointed at the bank of fridges, in one of which was Mandy Carter’s body — ‘were murdered by an FBI hit squad.’
His eyes went from one man to the next. If he’d intended to shock them, he’d succeeded. Every mouth had popped open, with the exception of FB who said gruffly, ‘We’re listening.’
‘Let me just say this first,’ Donaldson continued. ‘I’ve got a lot of work to do on this, but I reckon this is the way the cards are stacking. Some of you know some of the stuff I’m about to say. However, I think I need to go over it again so everyone’s reading from the same page, as it were. Forgive me if you already know these facts, but I’ll try and keep it succinct.’
‘If you would,’ FB could not help but say.
The two men exchanged a scowl.
‘For several years the FBI had an undercover operative who had infiltrated one of the Camorra Mafia clans — the Marinis. He operated at a pretty high level-’
‘Sorry… I’m not up to speed on this,’ Bill Robbins interrupted, ‘but why was he there? What was he doing?’
‘He was there because we are interested in the Camorra. They have worldwide networks in place and though they remain Naples based, they are spreading and they’re rich, powerful and ruthless, as you guys know. Jerry here gave you a good background briefing, I believe. This operative, codenamed Shark, was unfortunately murdered by a hit man known as “The American” about three years ago. No one knew he was undercover, no one does even now. But he was killed alongside a Camorra leader called Marini. The hit, our intelligence suggested, was ordered by Rosario Petrone. Our guy wasn’t the target, he was just collateral damage.
‘You know of the gang war this hit sparked off — again, I know Jerry did a great job of briefing you all on this. Marini versus Petrone, and lots of people died… but that aside, I was tasked to track down the hit man known as the American.’
‘Just you?’ Bill asked.
‘Just me. Not a simple task, but hey, I got on with it and didn’t get anywhere until a guy called Fazil got arrested by chance in Malta a few days ago. He was linked forensically to the murder scene as the guy who supplied the weapon for the American. So, I go to see Fazil, who gets killed in police custody before I can get anything out of him.’ Donaldson considered telling them about the murder of two cops and his own run-in with the gunman, but decided against it. He had a quick story to tell and didn’t want to bog it down in peripheral detail. ‘You guys with me so far?’
All nodded silently, even FB.
‘Oh, sorry guys,’ Alex Bent said apologetically and reached into his pocket to come out with his vibrating mobile phone. He checked the display and said, ‘I probably need to get this.’
‘OK, go ahead,’ Henry said and Bent sidled out of the room.
Donaldson felt like his head was about to explode. He had developed a huge arc of pain over his eyes and if he had suffered from them, he would have said it was a migraine. It was staggering in its intensity, like a hammer drill boring out holes behind his eyes.
‘Are you all right?’ Henry asked, picking up on his friend’s condition.
‘Stress headache.’
Alex Bent came back in, a serious look on his face.
‘Henry — the mobile phone stolen from the Goth… it’s been switched on, the phone company’s triangulating its position now, as we speak.’
SIXTEEN
Ellen Thompson had been a public enquiry assistant at Blackpool police station for just over six months. She was twenty-three years old, a single mother with a two-year-old son and lived on and off with her partner, Lee Clarke, in a rented terrace house just to the north of the town centre. She had no previous convictions, otherwise she would never have got the job, but Lee Clarke had. He was a drug user, small time thief and handler of stolen goods.
At the time of Ellen’s application for a job as a PEA, she and Lee were having one of their regular splits from each other. Consequently, the rather flimsy background check on her did not reveal Lee’s presence in her life. Ellen had been desperate for a decent, regular job with a bit of flexibility in it and being a PEA, whilst not massively remunerated, was good work, well within her capabilities and actually pretty interesting.
However, two months after proudly securing the job, Lee Clarke came back on the scene. A bad boy, full of charm, and try as she might, Ellen could not resist him and his bad influence.
On top of which, the fact he was the father of her son was an extra pull on her heart strings.
At first, on his return to her life he was, as usual, remorseful, brimming with positives and promises. He said he’d put his drug habit behind him, kicked thieving, kicked booze.
And she fell for it.
Then her money started to disappear and he was obviously back on the line.
Money was tight and he needed more and more to fund the habit of a lifetime.
Then they had the conversation. ‘Do you get cash handed into you?’
‘Occasionally.’
‘Other stuff?’
‘Lots of stuff, but we mostly tell people to keep what they find.’
Lee looked pensively at her, his devious mind working the angles.
He continued to steal and waste even more money.
Then, as things became tight again and desperation grew, she committed the first theft at his suggestion. Cash needed to feed a baby. Fifty pounds found by an old woman on the bus station. Ellen said she should hand it over because someone had already reported it lost, which was a lie. She entered it into the found property book behind the desk at the police station and a couple of days later, the owner’s signature appeared and the cash was handed back. Apparently.
A couple of other thefts followed the same route. Only small amounts, but a great help all the same. And then a mobile phone was handed in by one of the smelly town centre drunks who was always in the station, either under arrest for being drunk and disorderly, or simply because he could not stay away from the cop shop. It drew him like a magnet and he was often escorted off the premises. His boozed up breath even made it through the security screen the day he came in when Ellen was on duty. He had obviously been imbibing for a number of hours. His words slurred loudly and he rambled on about being certain two lads had robbed him. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure if he’d spent his money, but could definitely recall a dream in which two youths had been through his pockets and nicked his cash — and his cider. Later that night, he’d been staggering through the streets when he kicked something on the floor, which turned out to be a mobile phone someone had dropped.
He pushed it on to the sliding tray, then turned and rolled out of the station, waving dismissively. A drunk like him had no use for such a device.
Ellen took the phone, saw it was a good model, put it into her locker to sneak home later. The appearance of the firearms PC asking awkward questions about a phone had spooked her and she decided she had better take it home, just in case further inquiries were made.
It didn’t matter if the phone had been blocked.
Lee knew someone who could unblock it, then it could be sold on and would be worth quite a few quid.
Though Ellen had only come on at four that day, she wanted an early finish. Lee had been on to her continually, calling and texting her frequently on her mobile, pleading for her to come home. Pack in the stupid job. Come home and fuck, then go out and get rat-arsed together. The kid had been farmed out to her mother, so that wouldn’t be anything to worry about. He was high or drunk or both, and the problem was, Ellen wanted to be too. The quick answer was to throw a sickie. She simply told the communications room sergeant she was going home because she felt nauseous with women’s problems.
She left at nine thirty with the phone in her bag. Curiosity made her switch it on as she got into her battered Ford Fiesta in the car park. The message that came up said, ‘This phone is barred from use.’ No surprise
