Henry squinted. ‘SPOC?’
The younger detective guffawed. He reached out a hand and shook with Henry, giving Henry’s hand a squeeze too much. ‘Single Point of Contact,’ he said patronizingly.
Only a minor thing, but one-up for the big city jacks.
‘Phil’s a DS in the office,’ Easton said. ‘He knows most of the local crims.’
‘Yeah, not a bright bunch, I have to say,’ said Phil. ‘The gene pool around these parts isn’t very deep.’
‘You know Keith Snell then?’
‘Yeah — a little.’
‘Good, that’ll be helpful. We really need to fill in his background.’
Easton turned to FB. ‘You said Henry was here for two reasons.’
FB nodded. ‘He’ll be helping me with the Sweetman inquiry.’
‘Right.’ The faces of both detectives darkened considerably. As expected, this would be a very touchy area and Henry had a bit of sympathy for them. It’s not nice being investigated.
‘But I’m sure there’ll be nothing to worry about,’ FB said brightly. ‘I intend to be in and out.’ He tapped his nose conspiratorially. ‘And everything we do will be transparent. . so could you and me have a little sit down now,’ he said to Easton, ‘and I’ll tell you what I need to know.’
‘Sure,’ Easton said magnanimously. He and FB left the office. Henry and his SPOC — as Henry had now and forever christened the man in his mind — regarded each other.
‘Come down to my office. Let’s have a brew and a chat, see what I can do for you.’ He led Henry out of the main CID room, down a short corridor and into his cubbyhole of an office, just about big enough for a desk, two chairs and a filing cabinet. ‘It’s not much, but I call it hovel,’ laughed SPOC. ‘Grab a seat.’ They sat on opposite sides of the desk. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Christie?’
‘I want to know about Keith Snell.’
‘Bloody murdered, eh? Fancy that. . one less for our books, I suppose.’ SPOC paused, ruminating. ‘Can’t say I know too much about Snell, actually. A fairly regular customer, but no one I came across often. One of the run-of-the-mill volume offenders and addicts who cause havoc with our crime figures. His antics were getting more and more violent, though, the more addicted he became.’
‘Gravitated to armed robbery, I believe?’
‘Singularly unsuccessfully.’ SPOC shook his head sadly.
‘Family?’
Another shake of the head. ‘The state was Snell’s family. Care home after care home, followed by the Benefits Agency and various prisons.’
‘Associates? Girlfriends?’
‘Knocked around with the group of people you’d expect him to knock around with. Not sure he had a girl.’
‘I’d like to see everything you have on him, all the intel please.’
‘OK,’ SPOC said brightly. ‘Can you give me an hour?’
Henry blinked, refraining from saying, A fucking hour? Instead he nodded and thought, The one-upmanship of the SPOC who also happens to be a BCJ — Big City Jack.
Terminal 2, Manchester Airport. Heaving with holiday traffic, so much so that the figures of Teddy Bear Jackman and Tony Cromer did not fit in. Chalk and cheese. But even so, nobody really paid them much heed, all being busy with disorderly families, suitcases and flight delays.
They had parked on the short-stay multi-storey and moseyed as casually as possible down to the arrivals hall. Being early, they split up for a while. Jackman strolled to a cafe and ordered a cappuccino, baulking at the expense of it at the till. Cromer browsed through WH Smith’s, looking through the true-crime section in the books. He liked to read fact as opposed to fiction, but though he leafed through a couple of enticing books, he did not buy. Instead he joined his partner with a pot of tea.
‘The prices here are criminal,’ Jackman moaned.
Cromer nodded. ‘Think there’s much surveillance here?’
‘Shitloads.’
‘Not a good place for us, really.’
‘Naah — but a plane’s got to land somewhere, so we’re stuck with it.’
‘Not keen on spending too much time here.’
‘Me neither.’
Both were slightly spooked being in an environment where they could get caught on camera. Their natural instinct was to hide their faces, pull up their collars and look mean, but to do that here, to act furtively in any way, would be to draw attention to themselves. And the police round here were armed with big guns. Something to bear in mind, especially in this day and age when, because of the threat of terrorism, they were not averse to using their weapons.
‘What does all this mean?’ Jackman asked.
‘That. . er. . lots of people are going on holiday or coming back from holiday,’ Cromer ventured.
‘No, y’prat. Why we’re here. Who we’re picking up.’
Cromer shrugged. ‘It’s obviously time for the big players to get involved. I think some major shit is about to happen. Someone, somewhere, has deeply upset Rufus, and I honestly don’t think it’s one of the big Manchester bosses. If it was, he’d have had a name by now. I’m sure of that.’
‘Think so?’
‘Poz.’ He leaned nearer to Jackman. ‘Wanna know what I think?’
‘Your mind always intrigues me.’
‘I think me and you are wasting our time doing what we’re doing. I don’t think any one of them we’ll be visiting knows anything. I think that somewhere out there’ — he made a wide, sweeping gesture with his arm — ‘is someone muscling in on us and who is lookin’ to make a very big name for himself, or herself. You never know in this day and age. And know what? I don’t think anyone knows who it is.’ He grinned. ‘Those are my thoughts.’
‘Thanks for sharing them with me. I must say, you do an awful lot of thinking.’
Cromer tapped his head. ‘I think, therefore I fucking am.’
They looked up at the nearby arrivals screen and stood up simultaneously as they saw that the flight they were due to meet had landed.
It was a very thin file. Not that he expected it to be as fat as a Bible, but he had thought there would be more.
‘Thanks.’ Henry looked at his watch. An hour and fifteen.
‘Not much, but that’s all we have on Snell.’
‘It’s a great start.’
‘You’re welcome. I need to get out and about, but here’s my mobile number if you need it.’ He handed a business card to Henry, then left him with the file. Picking it up between finger and thumb, he weighed it. There wasn’t much at all, but having said that, whilst Snell may have been a regular offender, he was nothing more than cannon fodder. He was easy to arrest and no doubt the young, keen officers tested their wings on him. He was not important, just an irritant, just a loser. . and yet something gnawed at Henry.
He leafed through the few pages of the intelligence file, scratching his head as he did so, feeling more uncomfortable as he read it. For someone who was so prolific an offender, there was a dearth of Intel on him. Henry sat back and thought about the many criminals he knew who were similar to Snell.
Always being locked up.
Always in the eyes of the law.
Always visible on the streets and in the dives.
Always knocking around with other crims and low lifes.
Always generating some sort of Intel.
And then graduating up to more serious offences — rather like a flasher moving up to be a rapist — they were always of interest to the day-to-day cops who policed the front line.
There was very little about Snell’s promotion to armed robber.
Henry now scratched his chin thoughtfully. The information he had so far been able to get on Snell was factual stuff from PNC. The crimes he had committed, where and when he had received convictions. There had been a lot of stuff recorded. Henry would have expected the local Intel to match it in some way. It didn’t.
‘Mm,’ he said, thinking he had only said it in his brain, but realized he had actually spoken out loud. He thought about asking his SPOC about this imbalance, but only for a moment. He pushed himself up and went to the office door, peering down the corridor.