‘You can put some clothes on, O’Duncie, or be taken to the nick stark bollock naked. Either way I don’t care because you are in fuckin’ big trouble.’
‘What ya want to arrest me for? I ain’t done nothing wrong,’ he said in an angry tone whilst pulling on some underpants.
Bradfield paid him no attention and started to look around. There was a large wardrobe in one corner, which he opened. The display of velvet trousers, floral shirts, silk scarves, leather shoes and platform boots was astonishing and a drawer was filled with gold and silver bracelets, rings and watches.
‘Well, isn’t this paradise in a shithole,’ Bradfield said as he threw O’Duncie a shirt and velvet trousers to put on.
‘It’s all paid for and legit — the receipts are in the bedside-cabinet drawer. I know every piece of jewellery there so don’t go nicking none,’ he said with a smirk.
Gibbs opened the drawer, pulled out a handful of receipts and held them up for Bradfield to see.
‘All thanks to drugs money, no doubt,’ Bradfield remarked.
‘No, the kids pay me rent.’
‘Don’t play games, your sister’s dropped you right in it, so just get dressed and behave yourself,’ Gibbs said.
‘My sister’s a mental case. We don’t get on so she’d say anything to fuck me up.’
Bradfield continued going through the wardrobe and there was no sign of any drugs. He started to pick up the pairs of boots one by one and tip them upside down when suddenly a small bag of marijuana fell out. He grabbed it and waved it at O’Duncie.
‘I don’t know anything about that,’ he said arrogantly.
Bradfield laughed, picked up another boot, shook it and this time two bags of marijuana and some heroin wraps fell out.
‘That’s not mine — you bastards brought it here to fit me up cos I’m black.’
‘If I wanted to fit you up, Terry, I’d have brought more drugs and some LSD tabs with me.’
Bradfield threw the boot back in the wardrobe and as it hit the floor there was a strange-sounding thud. He bent down and rapped his knuckles on the plywood which produced the same sound, but when he knocked on the opposite side, by the drawers, the sound was hollow. He noticed that the wardrobe floor had a wooden slat divide held down by a screw at each end.
‘Got a screwdriver anywhere?’ he asked O’Duncie who said nothing but looked nervous for the first time as he pulled on the purple velvet trousers and zipped up the fly.
Bradfield lifted his right foot and slammed it down hard on the plywood causing it to splinter in half.
‘Sorry, that was an accident,’ he said as he ripped the broken pieces of wood away to discover a compartment filled with a pile of different-denomination banknotes. Some had elastic bands round them: there were ones, fives, tenners and some new twenties held together in a bank wrap. There was also a bag of coins and a medium-sized bag of what was obviously heroin.
Bradfield smiled. ‘Well, sunshine, I’d say that lot equates to dealing and a long prison sentence with your previous drugs convictions.’
‘Listen to me, cos I don’t know nothin’ about that lot; the last person who was here must have left it.’
‘Well, you’d better hope we don’t find your prints on the heroin bag or any of the notes then. You really have to wise up and start helping us, and I might just put a good word in for you with the judge.’
O’Duncie started to sweat as he buttoned up his shirt. Spencer Gibbs, using a clean handkerchief, began to carefully gather up the money and drugs, putting them into a pillowcase. He reckoned the notes amounted to roughly two and a half to three thousand pounds.
‘Ain’t you supposed to count it in front of me?’ O’Duncie asked.
‘So you’re now saying this is your money, are you?’ Gibbs remarked.
O’Duncie realized he’d messed up and knew his prints would be found so he admitted the money and drugs were his.
‘We’ll count it at the nick. You’re being arrested for possession and supplying drugs as well as—’
O’Duncie interrupted Bradfield. ‘You can have a cut of the dough.’ He turned to Gibbs. ‘Split it between you both.’
Gibbs stared hard, which seemed to encourage O’Duncie.
‘Come on, man, I know how to keep my mouth shut, like I never saw you find it, right? I dunno even how much is there, right, you with me? I mean help me out here, last time I got raided drug squad prick got away with a grand, so I know how it works.’
Gibbs reacted fast, his fist smacking into O’Duncie’s face. O’Duncie howled as he fell backwards onto the bed and blood spurted from his nose.
‘We’re not drug squad or bent!’ Gibbs shouted.
‘Jesus Christ, man, you fuckin’ busted my nose.’ He looked at Bradfield. ‘You saw what he did, he hit me.’
‘I saw you trip up when you tried to escape arrest. Now shut up, wipe your nose and finish getting dressed.’
O’Duncie grabbed a corner of the sheet and wiped his nose before pulling on a pair of black Cuban-heeled boots and lastly an ankle-length brown-suede trench coat. Gibbs then put the handcuffs on and led him downstairs.
As O’Duncie was led out to the police car Jane could see how swollen and bloody his nose was, but she didn’t dare ask what happened, she was just relieved that she wasn’t in the bedroom when it did. Bradfield spoke with Jane who informed him that the young girl who’d been in bed with O’Duncie was adamant she was eighteen.
‘I think she’s lying, and she’s given me a stupid name, Flower Summer, so do we take her in?’
‘No grounds. She may be full of bullshit, not to mention drugs, but we can check her description and see if she’s been reported missing by her parents. When we get back to the station inform Social Services about the squat and that there may be underage girls and runaways dossing down here.’
O’Duncie sat in subdued silence the entire way back to the station. Gibbs was handcuffed to him on one side and Bradfield sat on the other having told Jane to sit in the front of the patrol car. O’Duncie wore some kind of musk oil which permeated the car and Bradfield opened a window.
At the station Gibbs and Jane took O’Duncie to the custody area to be booked in. He was asked if he wanted to make a phone call but declined stating that it was pointless as he’d been ‘done up like a kipper’ and quipped that he couldn’t afford a solicitor as they had all his money.
Just before they were to interrogate O’Duncie, DS Gibbs received a phone call that took the wind out of him. He caught Bradfield about to head into his office.
‘Need a word, guv — it’s urgent — before we have a go at him.’
‘Listen, Spence, I don’t want to waste any more time. What for Chrissake is so important?’
‘I just got a call from Manchester CID — I’d sent a telex asking them to check all the aliases I had for the name Josh against drug dealers and anyone known as Big Daddy.’
There was an instant look of concern on Bradfield’s face as he glared at Gibbs who licked his lips and continued.
‘A Joshua Richards was arrested in Moss Side two weeks ago for GBH. He’s six foot five, built like a stallion and well known locally as Big Daddy, not just because of his size: he has six kids all by different women. He’s also a big-time drug dealer who runs between Manchester and London.’
‘So Richards was probably supplying Julie Ann.’
‘Yes, and probably Terry O’Duncie, but not for the last two weeks.’
‘What?’
‘Richards didn’t get bail from the Manchester Court as they found a fuckin’ Kalashnikov in the boot of his car along with LSD tabs. It means he’s in the clear for Julie Ann’s and Eddie’s murders—’