money to the right people. One-fifty.’
‘ Okay,’ Benstead relented easily. ‘One hundred.’
‘ One-two-five.’
‘ One-fifteen.’
Trent nodded. Benstead pulled a roll of banknotes out of his jeans pocket and peeled off the required number, handing them across under cover of the table. ‘Now fuck off,’ he said, concluding business.
Trent grabbed the money and stuffed it into a pocket. He stood up and left the place through the back door.
Benstead shuffled the purchase back into the paper bag and dropped it into his anorak pocket. He picked up a copy of the Daily Mail, unfolded it and relaxed… for about a second… until he read the headlines and saw Trent’s face staring dangerously at him from the front page.
A horribly nauseous feeling wrenched his guts. He placed the paper down on the table and reached for his drink. Christ! He’d just done business with the most wanted man in the country. His hand shook as he lifted the glass and missed his mouth. Then he groaned pathetically when the person he most detested and feared entered the taproom from the more salubrious snug next door.
Henry and Danny had walked along Bank Hey Street, Blackpool Tower rising above them to their left. The place was swarming with holidaymakers, bustling along, every single one of them with a smile. A whole range of people, young to old, slim to fat. Sober to drunk. Blackpool had something for everyone.
‘ I wonder how it’s going with Trent,’ Danny said.
‘ I’ll be surprised if he stays here long and I’ll be even more surprised if we catch him,’ Henry said honestly.
‘ The very thought of him makes me shiver,’ Danny confessed. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met someone quite so evil. What he did to those little girls was appalling. It’s a wonder he didn’t kill them. I wouldn’t normally wish death on anyone, but he should be hanged. I’d gladly put the noose around his neck.’
‘ Let’s have a look in here.’ Henry pointed to the door of a pub. ‘Quick drink, then back to work.’
‘ In here?’ Danny’s lips curled in disgust as she looked up at the building. ‘It’s a dive.’
‘ Let’s combine business and pleasure.’
Henry held the front door open, allowing Danny to enter first. They turned left into the snug and stood just inside the threshold of the bar.
Danny’s words were accurate. The place was a dive, but both officers knew it was one of the main pubs in town where stolen goods from shoplifting sprees were often divided up and distributed or sold; a lot of minor drug dealing went down too. Both activities usually occurred without interference from management who were strongly suspected of being involved in both trades.
Henry liked to drop in unexpectedly now and again. Occasionally such visits produced results. More often than not they simply shook up the crims, something Henry took great pleasure in doing.
The snug was fairly empty. Henry could not spot anyone he knew, other than the barman, Fat Tommy.
‘ All right, Tommy?’ Henry approached the bar.
‘ I was,’ Tommy responded on seeing Henry. Tommy was not noted for his social skills.
‘ Kaliber for me… Danny?’
‘ I think my nerves are back in order. Coke please, with ice.’ She pulled out a cigarette and lit up. She inhaled deeply and for a second or two went quite light-headed. She held the smoke in her lungs, then blew it out slowly. Bliss.
The rotund barman went about his tasks. Henry asked him, ‘Anything doing?’
‘ Nope.’ He banged the two drinks on the bar top.
‘ You don’t like me, do you Tommy?’
‘ No, and I can’t think why… two quid.’
‘ Shame, really… we have so much in common.’ Henry handed him a five-pound note. Whilst Tommy was at the till, Henry stood on tiptoes and peered across the bar into the taproom where he saw Benstead. After checking his change he said, ‘C’mon,’ to Danny, led her out of the snug into the taproom and immediately saw the expression on Benstead’s face.
He looked as though he’d seen the Grim Reaper.
Henry thought, Might’ve struck lucky here.
Benstead made a valiant effort to compose himself. He folded up his copy of the Mail, downed the last inch of his beer and tried to act as normally as possible in the circumstances. But he was agonisingly conscious that his face had probably conveyed a thousand words to Henry Christie. And that very same man, the bane of his life, the cop who harried him constantly, was now approaching. Fast.
Benstead rose unsteadily to his feet, tucking the tabloid under his arm, trying to give the impression he had not seen Henry.
As he moved off, Henry reached the table. Benstead feigned surprise.
‘ Well, well, well. What have we here?’ Henry grinned maliciously. Actually he knew exactly what he had — one of the top handlers of stolen property in Blackpool, if not the North of England. Benstead was a career criminal who tried to keep a low profile in terms of his lifestyle. He lived with his common-law wife, her two kids from a previous marriage (not yet dissolved), his own two from a couple of brief relationships, and two German shepherd dogs in a semi-detached council house. He was unemployed, drawing maximum benefits, did not own a car and had very little to show outwardly from the money he made buying and selling other people’s possessions.
Henry’s intelligence-gathering on Benstead led him to believe the little scrote owned a large apartment in Tenerife and held several bank accounts in fictitious names. Knowing and proving were two different things, though. So far, all Henry’s team had managed to do was convict Benstead once only for a petty job for which he got fined.
Which annoyed Henry.
And put Benstead high on his target-list.
A fact of which Benstead was painfully aware.
‘ You haven’t got anything,’ Benstead said in response to Henry’s opening question, ‘because I’m off.’ He zipped up his anorak and side-stepped smartly.
Not smartly enough.
Henry side-stepped with him, blocking his exit.
‘ Know who this is?’ Henry asked Danny, speaking through the corner of his mouth, his eyes remaining firmly on Benstead.
‘ Baz Benstead — disposer of stolen property,’ she answered promptly.
‘ Someone we’re always interested in.’ Henry beamed down at the little man who had started to look very nervous indeed. ‘Bit of a hot day for an anorak,’ he observed. To Danny he said, ‘Always wears one. Big pockets. Never quite knows what might come his way — do you, Baz?’
‘ Don’t fuckin’ hassle me, Henry, or I’ll have my brief chasing you before you know what’s hit you.’
‘ Oh, Baz!’ Henry cried, feigning hurt. Then, ‘Just who the fuck d’you think you’re talking to? Come on, let’s sit down and have a nice, pleasant chinwag.’
‘ I’m leaving — excuse me… ahhhh!’
Henry slammed his free hand into Benstead’s chest and sat him down on the bench seat. ‘Sit.’
Shit! Benstead thought. A well of panic rose from his feet to his neck.
Henry sat next to him, sipping his Kaliber.
Danny remained standing, glass in one hand, cigarette dangling from her mouth. Her eyes bore scornfully down on Benstead. She had heard much about him, but never met him until this moment. She was unimpressed.
‘ What’re you up to?’ Henry asked.
‘ Nowt.’ Benstead put the newspaper on the table. The headlines screamed out about the most dangerous man in Britain on the loose. Benstead blinked rapidly as his brain recorded the message again. He turned the paper over.
‘ You looked like you’d peered into your grave when we walked in.’
