A Real Job (37 page)

Although the back of his head ached, he knew it was not too serious an injury. Deciding to milk the opportunity of being in hospital, he continually worked on looking for an opportunity to escape. Laying there wearing nothing more than a flimsy hospital gown, he knew the hospital staff had undressed him and he had no idea where they put his clothes. As the bedclothes were not too tight around his body, he could move a little without it being noticed. The problem he had was how to detach the plastic clip on his left index finger attached to a monitor by his bed along with the two plastic attachments stuck onto his chest wired to a monitor checking his heart rate and blood pressure. On top of that, he was trying to figure a way of getting past the two officers and the fact he would need some clothes.

Keeping his eyes closed, visualising how he could get out, he heard the door to the side room open and a female voice say, ‘I need to go to the bog, will you be alright on your own with him for a couple of minutes?’

The officer sat by the bed put down the newspaper, looked over at O’Byrne and said, ‘Sure. He’s still out for the count. That must be some bang on the head he got. He hasn’t come round yet. After you’ve been to the toilet, could you get me a coffee?’ The officer reached into his trouser pocket and took out some change, ‘There’s a drinks machine around the corner from the ward.’

The female officer walked up and took the money. As she was leaving the room, she said, ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

After hearing the door close, O’Byrne opened his eyes slightly. The officer resumed reading the newspaper. Only being a couple of feet away and sitting sideways to O’Byrne, he knew this was his chance to escape. Managing to quietly move his left hand onto his chest, he took the plastic suckers off his chest. The problem was how to get the clip off his finger preventing it making a clunking sound as it closed. Keeping his left hand under the bed covers, he moved the other fingers and thumb on his left hand to ease the plastic clip off. The bedclothes muffled the sound of the clip closing as it came off his hand.

As he was free of the wiring to the monitor, O’Byrne opened his eyes to see the officer still engrossed in the newspaper. With great speed, he lurched out of the bed. Grabbing the detective’s neck it forced the two men to roll on the floor. Having the element of surprise, O’Byrne grabbed the officer’s chin with his left hand and using his strength turned it to one side. Making the officer use both of his hands to grab O’Byrne’s arm, with his right hand that was across his neck, O’Byrne used this opportunity to find his pistol strapped to his body. Grabbing the butt, he took it out repeatedly struck the detective’s head. As the officer lost consciousness, O’Byrne got up and picked up the chair. Quickly, he went to the door, wedging it under the handle.

Knowing he had no time to spare, he took off the unconscious officer’s shoes and socks, and the rest of his clothes. Being slightly larger than O’Byrne, the officer’s clothes would fit him, even though they would be a bit big. After throwing on the polo shirt and jeans, putting the socks and shoes on took a little longer. Keeping one eye on the door, O’Byrne cursed as he struggled to put on the shoes. The officer might be bigger than O’Byrne, but having a shoe size smaller, he struggled to squeeze the officer’s shoes on his feet.

Tucking the pistol down the back of his newly acquired pair of jeans, O’Byrne grabbed the still unconscious detective’s lightweight jacket off the floor and moved the chair from the door. Opening it slightly, he looked to see if anyone was approaching. All he could see were a couple of nurses tending to patients on the open ward. A few yards from the side-room to his right was a fire door at the end of a corridor. Being four floors up from ground level, he knew there would be a fire escape on the other side of the door he could use to get down and out of the hospital grounds. He opened the door fully, ran to the end of the corridor and put his hand on the metal bar to push open the fire door. As the door flung open, he momentarily closed his eyes praying no alarm went off. Once onto the fire escape, he began running down the metal staircase towards the ground level.

Running as fast as he could down the staircase, no alarm sounded and neither did O’Byrne hear any shouts. He knew that gave him a couple of minutes of surprise before any one realised he had escaped. Stepping off the metal staircase he ran along the side of the building towards the main entrance where he stopped running. Cautiously, the Irishman looked around the corner. To his relief, no police officers were in the area. Walking past the main entrance doorway through a number of people entering and leaving the hospital, O’Byrne tried to slow down his breathing so it did not look like he had been running. As he did, he reached into the jeans and pulled out the officer’s wallet. In it was a couple of credit and debit cards, but more importantly, there was £75 in cash. Feeling something lumpy in the back pocket, he reached in and pulled out the officer’s warrant card. He knew that would come in handy. In the pocket of the officer’s jacket was a mobile phone still switched on. O’Byrne could not believe his luck. Scrolling through the text messages, his immediate priority was getting as far away from the hospital before the police started looking for him. Walking to a taxi rank, O’Byrne read a couple of text messages. Reading one in particular brought a smile on his face. Entering a cab waiting for a fare, what he read confirmed his suspicions as to how Hurst always seemed one step ahead of him.

*     *     *

‘Jimmy, how’s it going?’ David Hurst said to Jimmy O’Leary on his mobile phone after receiving a text message to call him.

‘I’m fine as always. Are you in Manchester?’

‘No. I’m elsewhere on surveillance. Have you got something for me?’

‘Yes and its important. I got a few snippets at Reilly’s Bar this afternoon that will be of interest to you. I see you and Steve were busy boys yesterday. I’m outside Reilly’s now outside having a smoke, so I can’t be too long on the phone. Is there any chance of you calling into the flat at Salford Quays this afternoon?’

‘Yes,’ David said looking at his watch, ‘If I put my foot down, I can be there within the hour.’

‘Good lad, there’s things you need to know that’s going to happen in the next few days. Also from what I’ve heard, you need to watch your back right now. I heard what happened to your sister last night. I’ll tell the boys at Reilly’s I’m feeling unwell and see you at the flat.’

‘OK, but I won’t be with Steve. I’ll come down with one of the other lads I’m working with. Are you OK with that?’

‘
A
ny friend of yours is a friend of mine. You’ve always been a good friend and you do a good job, don’t forget that. I trust you. Whatever happens in the future, remember old Jimmy sees the value in what you do,’ and Jimmy abruptly terminated the call.

David put his phone back into his chino’s pocket and told Gary Baker about the call, ‘. . . he’s a top informer so if it’s alright with you I’ll take Tony and nip up to Salford. We won’t be long. I reckon we’ll be back in just over two hours.’

‘If he gives you something to help on this operation, it’ll be worth the trip,’ Gary said, ‘and don’t rush, take as long as you like to get it done. We’ll be fine here.’

*     *     *

With no current intelligence to work on, Debbie was on her own playing a card game on the computer in Alec Harvey’s office waiting for George who was being interviewed by Professional Standards at Cheshire’s headquarters on the floor above the ISB department’s suite of offices. As McCullagh was still in his office, Debbie decided to wait until George returned before going back to the hotel to catch up on some sleep. As playing the game was only making her feel even more sleepy, she went onto the Internet to see what was on e-Bay when there was a gentle knock on the door. ‘Come in George,’ she said keeping her eyes on the computer screen.

As the door opened, a familiar Irish accent said, ‘It’s not George, it’s me.’

Debbie looked up, and saw DI McCullagh enter the office. ‘I’m sorry about what happened earlier this morning,’ he said standing on the opposite side of the desk to Debbie, ‘I’ve just heard what happened to David’s sister last night. It was wrong of me to sound off at him.’

‘That’s alright, you weren’t to know,’ Debbie said seeing through the contrition the DI was displaying, ‘With everything that’s going on we’re all tired and that makes us all that bit more tetchy. What can I do for you Michael?’

‘It’s like a ghost ship in the office with everyone out and about. If you’re not too busy, I was wondering if you could give me a lift into the city centre. I’ve just received a call from the Grosvenor. They’ve got a temporary security manager starting today as the regular one broke his leg playing five-a side football last night. It’s the last thing I need right now, but I’ve got to go through the plans with him for next Tuesday’s visit. If you’ve got a few minutes, I’d really appreciate it if you could run me up there.’ He looked at the computer screen and added, ‘Doing a bit of Internet shopping?’

‘I’m just killing time until George finishes with Professional Standards,’ Debbie said, willing George to return and help with the dilemma she found herself in.

‘If you’re in the middle of purchasing something I’ll understand if you can’t drop me off, but it’ll only take ten minutes or so.’

Knowing there was no good reason to refuse him, she could do with McCullagh remaining in his office until George joined her so they could arrest him. Thinking how it was only a short trip in the car to take him to the Grosvenor she knew he would be there for at least an hour. This would allow her to stay close by and get George to meet her after he had finished with Professional Standards. Not wanting to give him any cause for suspecting they were onto him, picking up her mobile phone off the desk she stood up and said, ‘Yes sure. I take it you want to go right now?’

‘If you could, that would be great.’

Walking through the main office, McCullagh said, ‘Where’s David? I’d like to apologise in person to him for my behaviour this morning.’

‘He’s still out and about somewhere with Gary’s team,’ Debbie said not wanting to reveal too much.

‘That’s funny,’ he said opening the main ISB office entrance door for Debbie, ‘I’ve just spoken to Gary and he said he’d gone off on an errand.’

Debbie walked out onto the main corridor and said, ‘That’s news to me.’

‘Gary said something about him having to go off to Salford,’ McCullagh said as they made their way out of the main entrance to Cheshire’s headquarters, ‘They must be making some progress on finding the outstanding targets on our patch.’

Debbie knew David was on his way to Salford as he phoned her earlier to say that Jimmy O’Leary had called to arrange a meet with him. She also knew David instructed Gary and his team not to give any details, no matter how slight to anyone else in the office, including DI McCullagh. Pointing to her black Saab convertible parked close to the main entrance, Debbie said, ‘This is the car.’

McCullagh walked to the front passenger door and waited for Debbie to unlock the car. ‘Nice motor. MI5 must have a healthy budget to afford cars like this?’

‘It’s mine, not the firm’s,’ she said getting into the driver’s seat.

‘Thanks again for this,’ McCullagh said as he got into the passenger seat next to her.

*     *     *

Driving onto the car park at the apartment block of Salford Quays, David saw marked police vehicles parked outside with a uniform police officer unravelling crime scene tape to the entrance of the flats. ‘I hope it’s got nothing to do with Jimmy,’ he said to Tony. Driving up to one of the marked police vans, David stopped the car and switched off the engine. As both the officers got out of the car, David got that dreaded feeling something had happened not just to his informant but to an old friend. Walking up to the uniform officer standing at the communal entrance he produced his warrant card and said, ‘DS David Hurst, GMP Special Branch. What’s happened?’

‘I was told to expect you. DCI Johnson is upstairs at the flat where we found a body . . .’

‘It’s not Jimmy O’Leary is it?’ David asked.

‘It is,’ the young officer said, who looking at her young features and the smartness of her uniform, David thought must still be in her probationary period. ‘DCI Johnson was trying to call you earlier, but he got no answer. He told me to tell you that when you arrived, you’re to go to straight up to the flat.’

‘Thanks. What’s your name?’ David asked, as the officer was writing down the fact he was entering the flat on the crime scene log.

‘Alison.’

‘Thanks Alison. Tony, you go back to the car and raise Gary. Tell him my informant’s been murdered and that we might be a little longer than we expected,’ David said. Running up two steps at a time up the stairwell, he took his phone out of his pocket to see the battery had gone dead. ‘Shit,’ he thought, ‘I forgot to charge it up last night.’

Walking out of the stairwell onto the landing, he saw DCI Tim Johnson standing outside the entrance to the flat. On seeing David, he walked up to meet him. ‘David, I’m sorry. I know Jimmy was an old friend.’

‘It’s gut wrenching Tim. I’m sorry you couldn’t reach me. The battery’s gone on my phone. I forgot to charge it up last night.’

‘I knew it would be something, it’s not like you to ignore calls.’

‘What happened?’ David asked, hoping Jimmy did not suffer.

As the two officers walked towards the flat, Tim said, ‘The forensic pathologist thinks he was on his knees when he was shot through the back of the head.’

‘That’s an IRA style assassination,’ David said entering the hallway of the flat.

‘It looks like it,’ Tim said, ‘but that’s not all. Whoever did it left a piece of paper on his body that said “Special Branch DS Hurst’s Tout”. Not only do we have an IRA style assassination, by using the term “tout” and not grass and the likes, we also have their term for an informant. That points to someone from this Real IRA investigation you’re on and I think it’s someone who’s ex-PIRA who did it. We’ve already bagged the note, so I’m afraid you can’t see it.’