Bad Blood (29 page)

‘I don’t believe you for a moment. If he hadn’t been of some use to you he wouldn’t have been allowed within a mile of your place.’

‘He had strict instructions. I told him if he ever went near any little girls again I’d …’ Fallon passed the teas across and smiled. ‘Well, after our little chat I figured he wouldn’t dare.’

‘He did though, didn’t he? We know that now. Did you discover something and decide to carry out your threat?’

‘No. You’ve got it wrong there, love. I never killed either of them.’

Savage paused and took a sip of her tea. She turned to the window. Down near a small pagoda in the centre of the lawn another heavyset man in a leather jacket stood smoking.

‘Let me guess,’ Savage said, nodding through the window. ‘Your gardener?’

‘You must be psychic, Charlotte,’ Fallon said with a grimace.

‘Say I believe your claim that you didn’t kill Owers or Redmond. That means somebody else did. Somebody who is out to get you. Unfortunately for Owers and Redmond, whoever they are decided to enact their plan via third parties.’

‘Bloody cowards.’ Fallon went to the sink and pushed the teabags into the large central plughole, pushing a button to one side. A high-pitched sound whirred for a second. ‘Why don’t they come knocking on my front door? Then I’d show ’em.’

‘Who are “they”, Mr Fallon?’

‘Look, love, why don’t you let me deal with things?’

‘I’m afraid the police don’t work like that. Besides, if you were managing to deal with things Redmond and Owers would still be alive.’ Savage took a drink of her tea. ‘You are approaching fifty now aren’t you? Isn’t it time you stepped back? From what I understand the young guns from the East are coming and they don’t play by the old rules. It would be much better if you let us deal with them.’

‘“Young guns from the East”?’ Fallon shook his head. ‘Who told you that crap? You lot don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.’

‘Well, perhaps you would like to enlighten me?’

Fallon said nothing for a moment. He scratched his beard. Savage could see some crumbs in amongst the silver hairs; the remains of Fallon’s lunch. He turned to the window and stared down at the estuary.

‘That river,’ he said, pointing with the teaspoon. ‘The tide’s been coming in and out for centuries. Millennia. Beyond that, even. Nothing you or I do can change a thing.’

‘Very philosophical, but I don’t see what—’

‘History. We all make it, but not in the way we choose. Know who said that?’ Savage shook her head. ‘Karl fucking Marx. He wasn’t right about much, but the prat was right about that.’

‘I’m surprised you’re so well read, but can we get back to the point?’

‘Like I said, history. Things happen and they can come back to haunt you.’ Fallon turned back from the window and jabbed the teaspoon at Savage. ‘Like with you and that pervert. The one you killed.’

‘If you’re talking about Matthew Harrison, he died in a car accident.’

‘You might not know it, but I’ve got a mate on the council. Alec Jackman.’

‘What the …?’ Savage clunked her cup down on a nearby work surface. She tried to compose herself. ‘Jackman, your friend?’

‘Video evidence.’ Fallon chuckled. ‘Alec showed me. Tasty.’

‘I don’t …’ Savage felt something catch at the back of her throat, a spasm which constricted her airways. The kitchen began to blur and for a moment she thought she would faint. She put her arm out for balance and gripped the edge of the worktop. Then Fallon moved up close and grabbed her arm. He leaned in close and sniffed.

‘I can smell something, Charlotte,’ he whispered. ‘And it’s not your perfume. It’s the stink of corruption and illegality.’

‘No way,’ Savage said. ‘Forget it.’

‘But that’s the problem, I can’t. Seeing you next to that car, making the decision to sentence Harrison to death, that turned me on, I can tell you. You’ve got guts. More guts than Alec for sure. You can help me and maybe I can help you in return.’

Savage shrugged off Fallon and moved across to the French windows. The tide was still coming in, sweeping across the mudflats, and engulfing what had only minutes ago been solid land. She turned back to Fallon.

‘Like you, Charlotte,’ he continued, ‘it’s not the future I need to be worried about, it’s the past.’ Fallon moved back over to the coffee machine and scraped a stool out from beneath the work surface. He sat on the stool and then ran both hands through his hair, shaking the greying mane loose. ‘For now, let me tell you a story. Once upon a time there were three little boys, princes, waiting to ascend to the throne. They were friends. They played together, laughed together, did everything together. Until one of them did something they shouldn’t and the other two decided to punish him for it. The naughty prince was banished from the kingdom and all was well and good. And that should have been the end of it. Happy ever after, nighty-night, sleep tight, and all that bollocks.’

‘Only the prince came back?’

‘In one.’ Fallon had picked up his cup and now he swirled the remains of his tea around and stared down at the dregs. ‘And now the returning prince wants to be king.’

‘Name?’

‘When I want your help I’ll let you know.’ Fallon spat into his cup and put it down. ‘Never been one for grassing, see? Let’s just say you were correct back in what you said earlier. Take a peek in your records. Last century. History. Ancient history.’

Crownhill Police Station, Plymouth. Wednesday 23rd January. 4.30 p.m.

By the time she returned to Crownhill the sun hung low in the sky, silhouetting the big tower blocks to the south-west. Any heat the ball of orange had provided was fast radiating heavenward. Savage stayed in her car, engine running, heater on and sod the global warming debate.

Fallon and Jackman. In cahoots. How on earth was she going to handle the situation? She couldn’t walk into the Crime Suite and announce Fallon’s revelation because the two of them were working a pincer movement, with her in the middle. As the car fugged up around her she tried to think. She needed information and she needed it off the record. That way she could manage the evidence and filter anything dangerous which could threaten Fallon and thus lead him to shop her.

She decided to take a punt. She picked up her phone and called Dan Phillips at the
Herald
. He sounded surprised to hear from her and she could almost hear his ears prick up when she asked him what he knew about Kenny Fallon. ‘Let’s meet’ was all he would say, and named the Eastern Eye on Notte Street.

An hour later she entered the restaurant and found Phillips sitting at a window seat.

‘Fallon is a regular here,’ he said as Savage came over. ‘Loves the place.’

Savage sat down and looked around. Usual Indian it wasn’t; no sign of white tablecloths, dodgy prints on the walls and no stained carpet. The place was very much in the twenty-first century with black leather chairs, smart tables and fancy lighting. If the waiter had brought over some item of nouveau cuisine on a square plate with a zig-zag of sauce she wouldn’t have been surprised. She was glad to note the extensive menu contained traditional dishes along with some exotic house specialities. Phillips recommended the chicken Kalam’s Delight, so she went with his choice.

Once a beer had been set in front of each of them along with some poppadums and condiments she asked about Fallon again.

‘Ah, the lovely Kenny Fallon. Plymouth’s very own born and bred mini-gangster. Hard man turned property tycoon. Friend of people and politicians alike. Sponsors kids’ footie teams, helps old ladies across the street, kneecaps local bad boys who get too out of line. Which part of all that you want to believe is up to you.’

‘I want to find out about his roots. Specifically friends and acquaintances from those early days.’

‘Is this about Alec Jackman?’

‘I …’ Savage reached for her beer. Took a gulp before continuing, aware her voice had a quaver to it. She feigned ignorance. ‘Who’s he? The name sounds familiar.’

‘Deputy Leader of the council. Sits on the Police and Crime Panel too. If you’re looking to link Jackman and Fallon, I wouldn’t bother. I’ve been down that route several times and I can’t find a thing to pin on him. Jackman and Fallon grew up on the same street and you’ll catch them occasionally having a curry here together, but Jackman is so clean his arse cheeks squeak when he walks. At least he appears that way.’

‘And you suspect he isn’t?’ She put the beer down with a little extra care, heart thumping.

‘Look, if you ask Jackman about his relationship with Fallon, he says the two of them were in and out of one another’s houses when they were kids. Their mothers were best friends. He says you can’t choose social bonds and you don’t break chains like that simply to get on in life. It’s all good stuff, but I am positive the friendship goes deeper.’

‘In what way?’

‘Like the development on the other side of Sutton Harbour, for instance. Planning was turned down five years ago and then Fallon buys the land from the original developer cheap. Now there is a swanky block of flats on the plot. The official line is that the design changed and priorities altered. The economy needed stimulus and it wasn’t the time to be fussing over technicalities.’

‘You think Jackman got a backhander from Fallon for getting the planning through?’

‘Can’t prove it. Anyway, the payback might not have been so crude. Even if Jackman earned beans from the deal he can stash them away and plant them later.’

‘And you can’t find them to dig them up?’

‘No. The only piece of mud I can find to sling at Jackman is his predilection for girls. Young girls.’

‘You mean …?’ Savage wondered if Jackman might in any way be connected to Owers. Phillips disabused her of the notion when he answered.

‘Not like that. Over sixteen but under eighteen. Last I opened a law book, sex with a sixteen-year-old was legal. Unfortunately for my scoop. I want to go with the story, but my editor doesn’t. No public interest he says, which is rubbish. Middle-aged councillors having sex with young girls is
exactly
what the public are
interested in. Trouble is my boss doesn’t want things stirred up, not unless I can discover something illegal.’

‘OK,’ Savage said, cracking a poppadum in half and dipping a piece in some raita. ‘But the person I am interested in isn’t Jackman.’

‘Who then?’

‘It’s somebody else from Fallon’s past. Somebody who may have been away for a time. Possibly the person got on the wrong side of Fallon at some point. Maybe they fell out over something. Whatever, they bore a grudge.’

‘And they’re back?’ Phillips’ eyes lit up and Savage could almost see his brain working overtime, putting two and two together. He took a swig of beer from his bottle and leaned forward. ‘Now
I
am
interested.’

‘Well?’

‘Would I be right if I linked Fallon with that paedophile who was killed and Gavin Redmond? Who, coincidentally, was Alec Jackman’s brother-in-law and ran a business which Fallon has a fifty per cent stake in.’

Savage said nothing. She pushed the plate of poppadums to one side as the waiter brought over the main courses, the steam carrying a wonderful aroma of spices.

‘I knew it!’ Phillips said, putting his bottle down. ‘How did I miss that?’ He chuckled to himself and began shovelling forkfuls of food into his mouth, mumbling through rice and korma. ‘Do you remember a man named Ricky Budgeon?’

‘Say that again: Budgen? As in the shop?’

‘No, e-o-n. Budgeon.’

‘Shit,’ Savage said, thinking on the text Julie Meadows had received from Riley. ‘Tell me.’

‘This is way back now, getting on for twenty years I’d guess. Well, Mr Budgeon is driving up the M5 to Bristol, and he is pulled over by armed officers keen to check the boot of his car. Ricky goes for a gun but he’s not fast enough. He takes one in the head, critical, but he lives to tell the tale. He’s got a mate in the car and the nutter pulls a hidden blade and slices open one of the officers and pulls his—’

‘Guts out with his bare hands.’

‘You know Stuart Chaffe then?’

Savage nodded. ‘Seems I do. Go on.’

‘At first it appears that apart from the gun the car is clean, but later the SOCOs lever off the tyre from the spare in the boot and discover five kilograms of coke inside. Both men go down for a long time, Chaffe for longer, if I recall. They’d be out now, though.’

‘So, where does Fallon fit in with this?’

‘When Budgeon was a kid he lived on a street in North Prospect, three doors up from Fallon. Became known as Geordie on account of his dad coming from Newcastle to work in Devonport dockyard. In his teens Budgeon affected a North-East accent and the nickname stuck. When Fallon went down for possession years ago word on the street was he’d carried the can for Budgeon. Did the time because he wouldn’t shop his mate. He earned a lot of respect for doing so too. Back when they were in their twenties they became notorious in North Prospect. Nothing went down without their permission. The two of them built a business, riding a wave of misery to financial success.’

‘Until Budgeon copped it.’

‘In one. With Budgeon out of the picture, Fallon took over. Since that day he’s hardly put a foot wrong. Now many of his businesses are legit, helped by the fact Jackman is always around to smooth things along. As you’ll be aware, Fallon keeps any vice at arm’s length. He gets commission, favours and things like that, but never anything to link him in directly. Sweet, no?’

Savage scraped the last of her food from the plate and sat back in her chair.

‘You know more though, don’t you?’

‘Perhaps.’ Phillips smiled, the smile vanishing as he continued. ‘I want an exclusive and I want to be on the spot when anything happens. Got it?’

‘OK.’ Savage nodded. ‘I’ll see what I can do. Promise.’

‘Right. So way back when Budgeon and Chaffe got nicked the word was Fallon and Budgeon had fallen out over a woman. Some high-class escort. Working name of Lynnette, I think. She was a little older than them and they both became infatuated. That was the germ of it anyway. From there the dispute burgeoned, became much more. It hurt Fallon. Remember he’d taken the rap for Budgeon, done time for him. Seemed like Budgeon wouldn’t return the favour.’