'Poor sod’ said the driver of a refrigerated lorry which was next in line. 'Looks like that's his morning gone.'
'More than his morning if what we hear is true,' said the man examining his papers. 'OK, Joe?'
'OK’ said the officer who had been giving the lorry a going-over.
'Safe journey, mate.'
The refrigerated vehicle moved out of the dock complex with the ease of familiarity and was soon on the motorway heading into Mid-Yorkshire. The driver took out a mobile phone and rang a pre-set number.
'On my way’ he said. 'Worked a treat. No bother’
He spoke too soon. Half an hour later he noticed his oil-warning light blinking intermittently. He banged the instrument panel and it stopped. Then it shone bright red.
'Shit’ he said, pulling over on to the hard shoulder.
Then, 'Shit shit shit!' he added as he slid out of the cab and saw a motorway patrol car a few hundred yards behind him closing fast and flashing to pull in.
'Trouble?' said the police officer who got out of the passenger door.
'Yeah. Oil pressure. Probably nothing.'
'Let's take a look, shall we?'
As they took their look, the police car's driver wandered round the back of the truck.
'Ah’ said the truck driver. Think I see what it is. Get that fixed in a couple of minutes. Thanks for your help.'
'You sure?' said the policeman.
'Yeah. No sweat. Twenty minutes tops’
'Great. We're due off in half an hour, so it'll be someone else's problem if it turns out more complicated than you think’ said the policeman, grinning.
'Harry. Got a minute?'
It was the other policeman.
His colleague went to join him.
'Listen. Thought I heard something.'
'Like what?'
'Like a sort of scratching’
They listened. The driver watched them for a moment then climbed into his cab.
'There. You hear it?'
'Yeah’
The cop moved swiftly along the truck and hoisted himself on to the cab step.
The driver had picked up his mobile. He flashed an unconvincing smile and said, 'Just thought I'd better ring my boss, tell him I'd had a little hitch’
The policeman reached forward and took the phone and looked at the number displayed. Then he switched the phone off.
'Tell you what’ he said. 'Let's not bother him till we see just how little your hitch is.'
Fifty miles away and an hour later, Wield was sitting in Turk's.
When Lee had rung him and asked for a meet, the sergeant had suggested the multi-storey again but the youth had said, 'No fucking way. Froze my bollocks off last time and the weather's even colder today. Turk's.'
He's calling the shots, thought Wield uneasily. Which was bad whatever their relationship was. What did he mean, whatever? Lubanski was an informant, period. Cops who started acting like social workers were asking for trouble. And whatever he looked like, he wasn't a child at risk but an adult in need of protection only if he asked for it.
But now, sitting opposite him and feeling himself drawn willy-nilly into the undisguised pleasure the boy took in his company, Wield saw the scene as it might look to a passer-by whose sharp gaze penetrated the steamed-up window. Uncle and nephew off on a day-trip together. Father and son even. This was the first time they'd met since the karaoke. Dalziel happily had seemed preoccupied with something else and Wield had found it easy to find excuses not to make the effort.
Lee was looking straight at him and, despite his certainty that his face gave nothing away, Wield hid his expression behind the mug of foul coffee which the freezing day had driven him to.
'So what you got?' he asked brusquely.
'You're in a hurry. Got a date or something?' said Lee. But not aggressively, not even provocatively. Just a relaxed joke between friends.
'I've got work to do, yes,' said Wield.
'Get a coffee break, don't you? Anyway, I expect you put this down as work.'
He wants some kind of denial, however qualified.
That's right,' said Wield brusquely. 'And I hope it's productive. What have you got?'
The hurt in the boy's eyes brought the protective mug up again.
'That guy rang last night,' he said sullenly. •
'Which guy?'
'The one he calls Mate.'
'What did he say?'
Lee produced a scrap of paper and began to read.
'He said it were all fixed his end for next week but where was the money? And Belchy said not to worry, it would be there. Then he rang the other guy…'
'LB? Thought you said he didn't ring him direct?'
'Usually he don't. But it sounded like he'd been hard to get hold of on the net.'
Understandable. Grief was a great antaphrodisiac. And a great enemy of rational thought. Possibly Linford was blaming Belchamber for getting Liam out on bail now.
'And he made contact?'
'Yeah. And I'll tell you something else. I know who LB is now. He's Wally Linford, dad of that wanker Liam who got himself killed last weekend.'
This was said with such triumph Wield hadn't the heart to reveal he knew it already.
'How do you know?'
'Said 'Linford' when he answered the phone. And Belchy called him Linford from then on. They had a right row. Linford was yelling. Belchy never yells, but I could tell he were getting really uptight. His dick went soft.'
Wield felt Lee watching him closely as he said this.
He's sussed how it bothers me when he refers to what he actually does to Belchamber, he thought. And me being bothered implies a relationship. Not good. But he kept his tone level and neutral as he asked, 'What were they quarrelling about?'
'Money. Belchy was worried about some payment he had to make and Linford was yelling he couldn't be bothered with all this crap just now and Belchy said mebbe he should be bothered 'cos his mate were going to be very bothered if he didn't get the next lot of upfronts and Linford said it had nothing the fuck to do with him what this mate felt, he was just an investor and kept a good safe distance away from his fucking clientele, like a fucking lawyer, things went pear-shaped he walked away from the shit, no skin off his nose, so stick that in your crown and wear it, your fucking majesty!'
This sounded like it was verbatim. Wield's mind was racing. Linford, still hugely disturbed at his son's death, was taking it out on Belchamber for the want of anyone else. And it wasn't just a case of a client sacking his lawyer. Their suspicions that for some reason Belchamber had crossed the line were obviously right. He was involved here, not as a lawyer hovering in the background ready to step forward only if things went awry, not even as a reluctant bagman, but as a principal, an initiator. But of what? And why the hell should he be taking that dangerous step across when staying on the legal side must be second nature to him?
‘And what was all that 'your majesty' business?
‘Just a joke? One queen to another maybe? Or…
'That any good then?' said Lee.
'What? Sorry. Yes, it's very helpful. Any more?'
'No, that's it for now. Don't worry, I get owt else, I'll be right on to you.'
