‘That is usually the way they operate.’
‘Since when has taking over Newcastle, Glasgow and Edinburgh been a sign of weakness?’
‘What then?’
‘It’s Vasnetsov,’ I told him. ‘He’s the man behind them. He’s got to be. I wasn’t certain until I offered them money to walk away.’
‘Money you had no intention of paying?’
‘I needed to be sure.’
‘It would explain why they turned you down,’ he admitted, ‘if they already have his money.’
‘Remember what he told me about Krysha? If ever I have a problem I could come to him and he would make it disappear.’
‘And the Serbs would return to Belgrade and you would think it was because of him.’
‘And it would be,’ I said, ‘he’d send them home because he was the one who ordered them over here in the first place. How else could they get something on an Assistant Chief Constable? He set that up.’
Amrein thought for a moment, ‘I think you may be right, but what can you do about it?’
‘I can show him I don’t need his help to get rid of the Stevic brothers.’
As soon as I concluded my meeting with Amrein I took Palmer to one side. ‘I need you to use your skills and contacts,’ I explained, ‘the guys you knew from your time in the intelligence services.’
He was immediately evasive, ‘I was only ever seconded to those guys for short periods…’
I interrupted him, ‘Can we cut the crap, Palmer, because I haven’t got time for it? How long have I known you? I’ve seen what you can do. You weren’t seconded to anyone. You were the real deal, so can you afford me the courtesy of stopping with the denials?’
Palmer thought for a moment then said, ‘Sure. What is it you want?’
‘I need you to go off the grid for a while. Can you do that?’
‘Of course.’
‘There’s something important I need you to do for me.’
As DI Sharp walked into the station he immediately realised something was wrong. The whole atmosphere seemed different and he soon learned why. The top brass were here. He could see them at the far end of the room, across a sea of desks, but they hadn’t spotted him yet. They were standing outside his boss’ office, deep in conversation. He could tell they were waiting for something or someone and his first impulse was to turn around and march straight from the room. He’d go back down to the car park, climb into his car and drive away as fast as he could. He knew he’d not get far, but Sharp would take his chances that way rather than be arrested here in front of everybody he’d worked alongside for years. Ten years minimum, he thought and felt sick.
To the left and right of him, desks were occupied by fellow officers but nobody acknowledged him. They all knew. He’d witnessed this kind of thing before. An unsuspecting detective would walk in one day to find a reception committee waiting for him; senior brass, his boss, a couple of hand-picked fellow officers, chosen for their bulk and ability to quietly contain him without a fuss being made. Everyone would know in advance, no one would blink as he was arrested on suspicion of corruption, then escorted from the building.
Sharp was about to turn on his heel when his boss DCI White spotted him and shouted across the room, ‘Sharp!’ he called, just loud enough. Sharp couldn’t possibly claim he hadn’t heard.
‘Boss,’ replied Sharp, with a strained smile, but he could already feel his cheeks burning with shame.
DCI White nodded towards his vacant office, ‘We’d like a word.’
I was at home when the call came through. He didn’t say who it was but I didn’t need him to. The sound of those deep, rasping breaths was enough.
‘I didn’t tell you everything,’ he wheezed, ‘there’s something you want to know, but I’m wanting another five grand for the information.’
‘Really?’ I replied, astounded at the cheek of this guy, because I seriously doubted he had anything new to tell me, ‘and what would that be?’
‘The name of the man who killed your fatha.’
Like most pubs, the Newcastle Arms is busy at the weekend, particularly on a match day, but quiet during the week. I met my asthmatic informant in a near-empty bar.
He was already there waiting for me. I bought my pint and sat down. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘this had better be good.’
He gave me a grim smile, ‘Why? Will you kill us if it isn’t like?’ He had another coughing fit from the effort involved in asking me that. ‘Well, you’ll have to be quick. I’ve got three months, so they say.’ From the look on his face, he wasn’t bluffing.
‘Is that why you wanted to see me? To unburden yourself?’
‘For the money,’ he told me, ‘I’ve got nowt, man,’ and he shook his head bitterly. ‘I want five grand for me daughter and her kiddie. That’s loose change in your pocket. If you give it me, I’ll let you have the name of the man who saw to your fatha.’
‘And how would you know that,’ I challenged him, ‘if you were on the outside looking in?’
‘Aye, well, I lied about that? I did more for Bobby Mahoney than I care to admit.’ He didn’t look like he was lying this time, so I let it go.
‘Then why didn’t you give me this name before?’
‘Because the bloke’s still alive,’ he explained, ‘and he’s an evil bastard.’
‘And you were scared he’d come after you?’
He shrugged, ‘Doesn’t matter now, does it?’
‘How would I know it’s him?’ I asked. ‘You’re desperate. You could be spinning me any old yarn.’
‘Go and see him,’ he suggested, ‘judge for yourself, persuade him to tell you the truth. I bet you could, an’ all.’
‘Maybe.’
‘If you’re convinced, you can give me my money.’
‘You’re a trusting soul, all of a sudden.’
‘Aye, well, you’ll either give us it or you won’t but, like I said, it’s loose change to you and I’ve heard you don’t welch.’
‘You’ll get it,’ I assured him, ‘if the information you give me is correct. Out with it then.’
He leaned in close. ‘Have you heard of Mickey Crowe?’ he asked me.
‘No.’
‘No reason you should have,’ he admitted, ‘he found God,’ and he let out a little snort of derision, because clearly he hadn’t. ‘Jacked it all in when he was born again, turned his back on a life of crime and went off to save the souls of bad people instead,’ he smiled at that, ‘he must be a busy lad in Newcastle.’
‘Jacked what in exactly?’
‘Killing people for money.’
41
I don’t know what I was expecting from the church of the Tyneside Bible Fellowship, but I wasn’t expecting this. The place was huge and looked more like a corporate headquarters than a church. I wondered how much the congregation had been fleeced to pay for it. I guessed they didn’t mind. After all, they’d been ‘saved’.
There was a sign on the lawn at the front of the church that proclaimed, ‘The Bible is inspired by God and is the final authority on all matters.’ Not much room for debate there then. I could never understand how quoting lines from a book, written by men, decades after the death of Jesus Christ, could prove anything to anyone about the existence of a god.
There was nobody in the church at this hour, so we ignored the big glass doors at the front and walked around the back. We found a door that was unlocked. Joe Kinane and I walked inside. We followed the corridor until we reached a small kitchen. There, sitting all alone at the table, drinking his tea, was the Reverend Michael Crowe. I recognised the man from his picture on the church’s website.
‘Who are you?’ he asked, clearly disconcerted by our presence. ‘What do you want?’
‘That’s not a very Christian welcome, Reverend Crowe. You know Joe Kinane from your old life,’ I reminded him, ‘it doesn’t matter who I am. Kinane works for me now. That’s all you need to know.’
The reverend looked nervous, but was he scared of Joe Kinane or of having his past life exposed to his congregation? Maybe it was both.
‘Is this what you really do now Crowe?’ asked Kinane.