‘It would,’ the sergeant said, chastened.
‘So what are you going to do about it?’
‘Think of something.’
‘Mmm, like I said,’ Easton muttered, ‘as if we haven’t got enough shit to deal with.’
At McDonald’s there were hordes of young kids knocking about, early arrivals for a later concert by Busted, the in-vogue band of the moment. Henry’s youngest daughter had been hassling him to get tickets for the concert, but Henry had left it too late and they had sold out when he rang. She still had not completely forgiven him yet. . might never do so.
The expression fixed on FB’s face was something to behold. His discomfort and distaste were both clearly visible from the way in which his mouth was twisted down at both corners as he manoeuvred his way through the kids, hissing through his teeth.
They found a couple of spare chairs and pulled them up to a messed-up table full of discarded food wrappers and plastic cups. They stripped their burgers as though they were uncovering the crown jewels, as opposed to greasy burgers on sloppy sesame buns.
‘How did you get on?’ Henry was first to put a question in.
FB bit hesitantly into his purchase, found it tasted better than anticipated, chomping happily as he replied. ‘Told Easton what my plan was, told him we’d be here next week, told him we’d be thorough but fair, told him not to worry.’
Henry raised his eyebrows and bit into his own burger.
‘But I was lying,’ said FB coldly. He eyed Henry and cocked his own eyebrows. ‘I wanted to get a feel of things, the lie of the land, lull him a bit.’ Henry saw a glint in FB’s eyes, a bit like a hawk homing in on a rat. ‘And first thing I want to do is reopen the investigation into Jackson Hazell’s death, the guy Sweetman is supposed to have murdered.’
‘Good.’ Henry slurped his Fanta Orange. ‘Because I’m certainly not impressed by what I’ve seen so far, and how I’ve been treated. I got given a doctored Intel report on Keith Snell.’
‘Doctored?’
‘Sexed-down, you might say.’
‘Explain.’
‘My SPOC went to the Intel unit for me to dig out Snell’s file — allegedly. When I looked through it, something didn’t seem to gel. We have more Intel on town-centre drunks than they had on Snell, who was a high-volume offender. When I got a chance I snuck down to see an FIO who rooted out Snell’s file for me — which is this.’ He pointed to the paperwork on the messy table. ‘No comparison to what I was given originally. Apparently Mr SPOC was digging around in Snell’s file a few days ago. Don’t exactly know when, but from the sounds of it, it was after his body had been found but before he was identified, i.e. today. Coincidence?’ Henry finished. His face showed grave doubt.
‘Why doctor an Intel file?’
Henry shook his head, swigged his juice. ‘Who knows? I can only speculate at this stage, but I feel queasy about it.’
‘What’s your next move?’
‘I thought you were the chief?’
‘And you’re one of the fuckin’ Indians — don’t forget that.’
‘OK — two things. Firstly I’d like to go round and grab Snell’s current bit of stuff. She doesn’t live that far from here. I’d like to break the news to her that her loved one’s dead — if she doesn’t already know, that is. Then I want to pin some tough questions on her, but not round here. Somewhere where I feel safe and secure, because I think we need to start thinking safety first from now.’ He held up a hand. ‘Not that I want to be over-dramatic, you understand.’
‘No, I agree,’ FB said.
‘And then I want to get to Blackpool. There’s someone there I need to talk to urgently. . so,’ he went on hesitantly, ‘if you’ve got the time, I’d like to do both this evening and then I want an emergency briefing at eight tomorrow because I think things are going to go skywards from now on.’
‘Well, you’re driving, Henry, so I’m in your capable hands.’
Sweetman and Mendoza embraced, kissed cheeks, but there was no warmth in the greeting, even when they held each other at arm’s length and regarded each other with smiles. They were the brittle expressions of two men under pressure, two men who did not totally trust each other, but needed each other.
Lopez stood back, just behind his boss, whilst Grant, Sweetman’s solicitor, assumed a similar position at Sweetman’s shoulder. Jackman and Cromer hovered by the door of the hotel suite, watching the meet with unease.
Informalities over, Mendoza said, ‘You and I need to speak — privately.’
‘Urgently,’ Sweetman agreed. He glanced at his three employees and jerked his thumb. Mendoza nodded at Lopez, who acknowledged the implicit order to leave with a smart click of his heels and an OTT nod of his own. The four men withdrew, leaving the main men to their business.
‘Do you wish to freshen up from the flight?’ Sweetman asked cordially. ‘Best hotel in Manchester, this — Jacuzzi, power shower — your choice.’
‘A two-hour flight is nothing.’ Mendoza gestured to the tray of food and drinks on the table. ‘This will suffice. We need to get talking. I feel that time is running out and we need to act quickly.’
Grant and Lopez moved together out of the room and along the corridor, trotting down the stairs to the hotel bar. They remained silent, aware of the presence of Jackman and Cromer, who were following them. Once in the bar, Grant bought a bottle of red wine and the two of them retreated to a table in the corner. Passing Jackman and Cromer, Grant said, ‘You need to keep on your toes, boys. . those two guys upstairs need good protection.’ He winked, clicked his tongue, then walked on before either could respond.
The expressions on the faces of Grant and Lopez remained impassive, serious, non-committal. They spoke only a few sentences, their eyes constantly on guard for Jackman and Cromer. They did not have to wait long, actually, before the professional instincts of the two men kicked in and they quit the bar.
‘At last,’ gasped Grant.
Lopez took a long swig of his wine, wiped his mouth and smiled. ‘Much better than the shit grown by Mendoza,’ he said.
‘Things are moving on,’ Grant said.
‘Si.’
‘The question is, my friend, how do we manage everything from now on?’
Lopez shrugged. ‘We will find a way.’ He touched his glass on to Grant’s, making a nice, ringing chink. ‘One thing for sure is that our two glorious bosses are now in very deep. . what? Shite, you say in the north of England.’
‘Exactly — shite.’
‘And our time is about to come.’
‘I don’t know.’ Sweetman paced the suite. ‘My best men have been out investigating in the only way they know how, and they have uncovered nothing. No one knows anything.’
‘Soon the drugs will begin to seep into the market, then we might start getting names,’ Mendoza said. ‘But,’ he went on dourly, ‘that is no good for you.’ His words hung in the air. ‘That will be too late and it will be impossible to recover the drugs, even though you may be able to exact some revenge.’
‘We need to help each other, here,’ Sweetman said.
‘Up to a point.’ Mendoza’s words held danger. There were no circumstances in which he would ever truly reveal his own financial predicament. ‘I am the wholesaler, you are the retailer, we are in business and we need to support each other to achieve profitability. That is how we survive. I want you to recover the drugs, truly I do. Because if you don’t, you are a dead man.’
Henry Christie and Robert Fanshaw-Bayley concluded their McDonald’s delicacies with a large coffee each, which both found good and strong and which gave them each an injection of energy. They threaded their way out through the increasing mass of kids at the Arena and walked back to the police station to collect the car.
They chatted almost amiably.
‘What’s it like being chief constable, then?’