‘ Yeah, sure, whatever.’ God, he almost choked when he thought about the opportunity missed. It had been there on a plate. ‘Maybe some other time?’ he ventured hopefully.
‘ I don’t think so,’ she said, still bright, failing to add, You missed your chance, tosspot. ‘I was a bit out of my head and it probably wouldn’t have been the right thing for us anyway, don’t you think?’
‘ Yeah, yeah,’ he said sonorously.
‘ Rik, what I’m phoning about is — when we were talking the other night in the club, you mentioned you were on the vetting team and that something interesting had been thrown up from the Imperial Hotel. Something about a guy… now correct me if I’m wrong, Rik, because I was totally pissed when you were telling me this and most of it went over my head… something about a guy who seems to have given false details when he was staying at the hotel, who stayed for one night, paid cash, and had dinner with another guy who visited him. This second guy — again correct me if I’m wrong — was called Don Smith. He used a credit card in that name. Am I right?’
‘ Yes, you are. I don’t even remember telling you.’
‘ Shows how bladdered you were, too. Tell me about it.’
‘ This fella books into the hotel into one of the best suites. Has dinner with this Don Smith character and leaves the morning after. We run all the normal checks and it transpires the address he gave does not exist — some street in Blackburn that was demolished years ago.’
‘ What’ve you done about it?’
‘ Tried to get hold of Don Smith, but we haven’t been able to do so yet. His credit-card address relates to an office in Blackpool which just seems to be a place where post gets sent.’
‘ Have you any idea who the other guy is?’
‘ Not yet. The one called Smith is a local Lancashire villain from Blackburn. We got his details from the credit-card company, but haven’t been able to pin him down at this address yet. It’s a mystery, but we’re not too concerned about it. There doesn’t seem to be a terrorist link, which is what we’re really concerned about, obviously.’
‘ Has the suite been used since? The one Mr Unknown used?’
‘ I imagine so. You thinking about fingerprints?’
‘ Yes.’
‘ It’ll have been cleaned if nothing else, so I doubt whether it would be worth dusting. What’s all this about, Danny?’
‘ Not sure yet. Possibly a connection with the triple murder.’
‘ Oh, right,’ Rik said, interested.
Danny shuffled her thoughts. ‘What I’m going to do is this, Rik — and bear with me please, because I’m just following a hunch here. I’m going to get a motorcyclist to pick up a mugshot of a guy from here at Headquarters and I’ll ask him to drop it off with you.’ She was already thinking ahead to losing a case because of lax procedure, so she wanted this done correctly. ‘You go to the CID office and get a book of photographs similar to the one I’ve sent and slot it in. Then go over to the hotel and ask the waiters to have a look through the book. See if they pick out the guy. Do it properly. Record it all on the right forms and don’t prompt — that’s important. In the meantime I’m going to get Scenes of Crime to go over that suite. You never know. Any questions?’
‘ No, but I love it when you’re authoritative.’
‘ Rik, honey… I could’ve been all yours, but you blew it.’
Danny hung up and rubbed her hands. All she needed to do now was root out a photo of Billy Crane which even though it would be a dozen years old would have to do. Beggars could not be choosers.
She dashed back to see Henry.
Colin Hodge checked the time. It was 2.30 p.m. now and he was approaching the North Lancaster exit of the M6, about six miles away from the service area. He had been instructed to try to arrive at the services about 2.45 p.m., to fit in with the ‘bigger picture’, whatever that meant. Once at the services, he had been told to go to the gents’ toilets where Smith would be waiting; the latter would brief him about the next stage of events. Hodge would then continue his journey south — or so he believed.
Hodge was keeping the security van at a constant 55 mph, but he relaxed his right foot ever so slightly to reduce the speed by a couple of sly notches without alerting his companions. He did not want to be too early. He wanted everything to work perfectly on this, the first day of the rest of his life.
The van drove past Junction 34 and the road began to rise. On the right was the fencing which surrounded Lancaster Farms, the Young Offenders’ Institute. Beyond that was the monstrosity that was Lancaster Moor Hospital. Then there was the wonderful monument in Williamson Park which rose up like a mini Taj Mahal.
Hodge groaned, flinched and leaned forwards, wrapping an arm around his stomach.
‘ Guts again?’ he was asked.
‘ Yeah,’ he rasped, feigning pain. ‘I feel another shit coming on — and soon.’
‘ There’s some services not far off. Pull in there.’
‘ Either that or I’m going to have to drop my keks on the hard shoulder.’
Five miles south, they were waiting for him.
Each man was growing more and more tense and nervous. Chewing gum rapidly. No talking. Waiting. Shallow breathing. Nostrils flaring. Eyes flickering across the service area, checking for unwanted visitors. Feet tapping. Fingers flexing. Sweat dribbling.
Hawker and Price were in the cab of the Leyland Sherpa which was squeezed between two very long, high- sided heavy goods vehicles parked on the outer rim of the HGV parking area. The vehicle on their right was a 1993 Leyland-DAF Curtainside, over 55 feet in length; on the other side was an ERF Curtainside of similar proportions. Both dwarfed the Sherpa between them, like two big brothers protecting the baby. They were stolen vehicles, on false plates, and had been positioned and left there earlier on the instructions of Don Smith.
Billy Crane was sitting in the cab of the ERF, constantly looking round, glancing in the big side mirrors, mouth dry, palms wet inside the disposable gloves he was wearing.
Smith and Gunk Elphick were in one of the Audi sports cars, parked in such a position that they could see every vehicle coming off the motorway on to the service area. They did not speak to each other.
Drozdov and Thompson were in the other Audi, parked close by to the HGVs.
Crane checked his watch. ‘Any sign yet?’ he asked shortly over the radio.
‘ Nothing yet,’ Smith responded.
Crane sat back, tried to relax. A tight smile came to his lips. He was aware that the police in Lancashire were going to be somewhat diverted over the next few minutes.
‘ You see, you’re fantastic,’ Danny said brightly. She and Henry were walking by the rugby pitch outside the Headquarters building, back to their cars. The Force helicopter was still on the grass, unattended, looking slightly lost and forlorn with its drooping rotor-blades.
Danny glanced sideways at Henry. He seemed to have drifted away again, back to that distant world in which he seemed to be spending his time. She hadn’t yet broached the subject of why he had really been visiting the Occupational Health Unit.
‘ Just a few minutes with you and there’s already two extra names in the hat. If you are interested,’ she hesitated here slightly, ‘Fanshaw-Bayley is willing for you to join the Murder Squad.’
They had reached the tennis courts; Danny’s car was parked a few yards down the track next to them. Henry turned to her.
‘ How do you know that?’ He stopped walking.
‘ Because I already suggested it to him.’
Henry’s jawline hardened. A glaze of anger crossed his face. ‘Oh? And did you check with me before you started meddling with my career?’
Danny’s mouth popped open. Nothing came out of it.
‘ I think it might have been prudent, don’t you?’ he said with hostility.
She closed her mouth. It became a tight, thin line. Her eyes criss-crossed his face. ‘I thought you’d be pleased. We need someone like you on the investigation.’
‘ You thought wrong. In future leave well alone, you interfering cow!’
