Black Daffodil (Trevor Joseph Detective series) (3 page)

‘And a couple of bags of confiscated trade goods?’ Trevor guessed.

‘You’re playing successful dealers.’

‘Upstairs must be antsy to put us straight on the job.’

‘We can’t afford to waste any more lives.’ Bill went to the door.

‘Because murders create too much paperwork.’

Bill turned and frowned. ‘Come again?’

‘It’s one of Peter’s. In appalling taste, but, as I’m going to be living as well as working with him, I’m tuning into his mindset.’ Trevor shuffled the reports in his in-tray. ‘You have told him about this?’

Bill glanced at his watch. ‘I will in the next five minutes.’

‘Good luck. You’ll need it.’

‘I promise I’ll be there for the birth.’ Trevor had waited until after dinner before breaking the news to Lyn. Thirteen years younger than him, tall, slim and beautiful with long dark hair that fell below her waist when she wore it loose, which wasn’t often enough for his liking, she had given him more to live for than he had dreamed possible. Every time he looked at her he couldn’t believe his luck.

‘You have no idea how long you’ll be away?’

He failed to read her expression. ‘I’ll telephone as often as I can and you’ll have a number on which you can contact me any time – day or night.’

‘I’ll move in with Mum and Dad for a week or two. They’re always complaining they don’t see enough of me. And, as you insisted I take early maternity leave and Mum’s retired, your credit card can look out. We’ll go baby shopping.’

He sat back in relief. ‘You really don’t mind?’

‘Of course I mind. And, of course I’m going to miss you, but I knew when I married you that I was taking on you and the job. And, you wouldn’t be going if it wasn’t important. Just one thing.’

‘What?’ He grabbed her as she left her seat and began to stack dishes. Taking the plates from her, he set them on the table and pulled her down on to his lap.

‘We’re too heavy for you.’ She patted her bump.

‘Combined, you’re just the right weight. What’s the one thing?’

‘Look after yourself. I don’t want to have to take our baby into a hospital to meet you for the first time.’

‘You won’t.’

‘Let me go and make coffee.’

‘You sit down, I’ll make it.’ He released her, took the plates and went into the kitchen.

‘Is Peter going with you?’

‘I shouldn’t even tell you that much, but yes.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘So am I.’ Trevor returned with cups, sugar and milk. ‘I’d much rather live with you, and not just because you’re prettier.’ He dropped a kiss on the back of her neck.

‘I mean, I’m sorry for him and Daisy.’

‘Trouble?’ Trevor asked. Peter Collins and Daisy Sherringham were an ill-matched couple. She was a cultured, elegant and refined doctor. The job – or nature – had honed Peter’s cynicism to the point of offensive. He revelled in his reputation as an aggressive and abrasive character and relished winding up his more sensitive colleagues.

Over the years they’d worked together Trevor had occasionally glimpsed a thoughtful, generous and compassionate side to Peter’s nature which he took pains to keep concealed from the world. They had met Daisy on a case six years before. Trevor had been one of her many admirers before Lyn had entered his life. But, close as he was to Peter, he simply couldn’t understand why Daisy gave Peter the time of day.

‘I’m amazed they’re still seeing one another,’ Lyn said. ‘Daisy doesn’t say much, but, from the way Peter behaved the last time we went out for a drink with them, a separation might finish off their relationship – that’s if they have one that goes further than the odd night out and sleepover.’

‘You make them sound like teenagers.’ Trevor returned to the kitchen, made the coffee and brought it in. ‘It’s enough you make me happy without trying to spread peace and harmony throughout the whole world.’

‘Not the whole world, just Peter and Daisy. She deserves to be happy but …’

‘Peter doesn’t?’ He poured the coffee.

‘For all his talk, I know Peter would kill or be killed for you if you were in a tight corner and for that I love him. Not that he’d thank me for saying it. But I don’t think he is the right one for Daisy.’

‘Neither do I. But there’s nothing either of us can do about it. They’re grown-ups.’

‘Peter doesn’t often behave like one.’

‘I agree with you.’ Trevor sat at the table and laid his hand over Lyn’s.

‘Would you tell me what the case is about if I asked?’

‘It’s classified.’

‘Don’t you trust me?’

‘It’s not a question of trust. If there’s a leak, it’s easier to say, I never told a soul than explain that I dropped a few crumbs of information to my wife.’

‘Is it murder?’

‘Sort of.’

‘Dangerous?’

‘No.’ Trevor knew from the expression on Lyn’s face that she had seen through his lie.

‘You have an early start?’

‘I have to be at the station by six and I won’t be back. Not for a while.’ He spooned sugar into his cup.

‘Then we’d better have an early night.’

He smiled. ‘Sounds like a good idea.’

‘I’ll load the dishwasher, you pack. Your undercover clothes are in the plastic bin in the back bedroom.’

‘I won’t be needing my down-and-out clothes. And, the dishwasher can wait. Love you, Mrs Joseph.’

‘Love you too,’ she echoed.

‘Finished your coffee?’

‘Just about.’

‘Then let’s go upstairs.’

Peter Collins waved to the waiter. ‘Two more brandies and coffees, and the bill.’

‘I’m operating first thing,’ Daisy remonstrated. ‘The last thing I need is another brandy – or coffee to keep me awake.’

‘I ordered them for me.’ Peter emptied his brandy balloon and hunched over it.

‘You’re not working in the morning.’

‘Briefing at six,’ he divulged.

‘In the morning?’

‘Unfortunately.’ He lined up the brandies the waiter brought in front of his coffee cups and checked the bill.

‘And you’re drinking two more brandies?’

‘Stop playing the bloody doctor for five minutes, Daisy.’

Daisy fell silent. She’d sensed that Peter was building up to something when they’d met at the restaurant. She suspected he wanted to end their six-month relationship – if dinner three or four evenings a week, drinks with friends, the occasional sleepover in his or her flat and one weekend away could be called a relationship. Much as she disliked Peter in his present mood, she didn’t want to end it. Although she couldn’t quantify why.

‘I won’t be able to see you for a while,’ he said abruptly.

The moment she had been dreading, had arrived. ‘No ties, no commitment, that’s what we agreed from the outset.’ She succeeded in keeping her voice even.

‘Aren’t you going to ask why?’ he growled.

‘That’s your business.’

‘It’s work.’

‘Fine.’

‘It shouldn’t be bloody fine, Daisy.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ she reprimanded when the diners around them looked towards their table.

‘It’s all right, we’re practising for the divorce court,’ Peter said loudly, addressing their fellow diners.

Daisy picked up her handbag and left her chair.

‘Don’t you care?’ Peter downed one of the brandies in one.

‘I’m busy – you’re busy – we knew that when we started spending time together.’

‘Time together,’ he sneered. ‘Bloody hell, Daisy, is that all we’re doing – “spending time together”?’

The waiter approached their table. Peter pulled out his wallet, tossed his credit card on top of the bill and fumbled in his pocket for a tip. He flung a ten pound note on top of the card.

Daisy walked outside. The restaurant was housed in an old mill. She leaned on the railings that fenced off the river and looked down into the swirling waters.

Peter emerged. ‘The waiter’s calling us a taxi. You can get out first, unless you want to spend the night at my place.’

‘Is that a roundabout way of asking if you can spend the night at mine?’

‘No, it’s a straightforward way of asking if you want to stop at my place.’

‘I’d rather not when you’re in this mood.’

‘What mood?’ he barked.

‘The mood you always get into whenever work – or someone – makes you do things you don’t want to.’

‘I bought fresh ground coffee this morning from the Italian delicatessen.’

‘There’ll be nothing for breakfast.’

‘I keep a box of muesli.’

‘You never have milk.’

‘Eat it with water, it’s better for you.’

‘I’ve had better offers.’

He finally unbent enough to tell her what he had been trying to get out all evening. ‘Trevor and I are going undercover. It could be a while.’

‘And you’d like a going-away present from me?’ she challenged.

‘Something to remember you by.’

She couldn’t swear to it, but she thought his voice had softened. ‘You can stay at my place if you want.’

‘I’ll have to leave by five.’

‘It wouldn’t be the first time.’

‘No it wouldn’t, would it?’ He saw headlights approaching and clasped her elbow.

Chapter Three

‘Some of you know one another, some of you don’t. But whatever you do know, you forget right now. That’s an order.’ Superintendent Bill Mulcahy lectured the officers assembled in front of him. ‘I’ll introduce everyone by their covers. Take a good look at their faces. It isn’t an exaggeration to say that your lives, and theirs, might depend on your reaction the next time you meet.’

Trevor glanced around the room. It could have been a meeting of a sub-committee of the United Nations. He recognised about half the people. Two keen and eager young constables from his station, Chris Brookes and Sarah Merchant, both recent recruits to plain clothes, were there, as was Andrew Jones, an experienced uniformed constable close to retirement.

Trevor wondered why Andrew had been seconded to the operation. He was the least ambitious copper he knew. Andrew had joined fifteen years before him and Peter. Uninterested in promotion, all his energy had been expended on the golf course. He had a cupboard full of trophies that had earned him the nickname of ‘T off’. He’d heard that Andrew’s second wife had recently divorced him, citing her husband’s obsession with the sport as the reason why she had kicked him out of the house.

A fourth generation UK Chinese, Sergeant Lee Tschung from the Met who had worked with him on a past case, was talking to a tiny, dark Hispanic-looking woman, and a brawny fair-haired stocky man. Judging from their accents they were American. Alfred McAlister, a second-generation West Indian recruit to his force was there, as was Tom Naz, an Asian who had only just left police college. But there were another half a dozen he had never seen before.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Dan Evans’s Welsh lilt filled the room. He spoke slowly, enunciating each word carefully. It had taken Trevor a few months of working closely with Dan to work out that it was deliberate ploy to make people think his wits were as slow as his speech. ‘You have folders in front of you. They are not to leave this room. Study one another and the information on the sheets. If you know the name of anyone in this room, as the superintendent said; forget it and memorise their cover.’

They all opened the folders and flicked through the papers.

‘Use your covers to infiltrate the gangs who control the dealers operating on the Bay. We’re looking for whoever is manufacturing and marketing this drug. It could be any one of the gangs, or an individual. As soon as you have information, contact Andy Horton.’ Dan pointed to Andrew Jones. ‘Every day from nine until five he will be in the Bay office of Jones, Jones and Watkins, Estate Agents. It’s legit but serious-crimes have an office there. They’re not using it at the moment, so they’ve allowed us to borrow it. As acting area manager for the firm I have an excuse to make an occasional visit. The rest of the staff believe Andy and I work for the firm. When you go in, ask to see the plans for the penthouses in the highest rise development in the Bay. You will be directed to Andy’s office.

‘If you need to contact him out of hours, use one of the Sim cards you will be issued with in your pay as you go cell phone. Keep the conversation relevant to property sales. Whenever you phone in your undercover guise, assume the other side are listening in. They could well be.

‘Try not to use a card outside of your undercover persona. If you absolutely have to – don’t mention any names, including your own. All Sim cards to be destroyed after a single use. If you contact Andy to arrange a meet, make it a public place. Andy blends in nicely with a crowd. Average looks, middle-aged, thinning brown hair, the sort you bump into in a supermarket or newsagent every day and never look twice at. Andy is your only line to me and the locals.’

‘Are any locals are being used on this operation?’ Peter pushed a cigar into his mouth.

‘No, because everyone knows everyone else in Wales – apparently. No smoking,’ Bill snapped.

‘I won’t light it. It’s my dummy,’ Peter answered laconically.

‘Trevor Brown and Peter Ashton.’ Dan pointed to Trevor and Peter before Peter’s belligerence elicited a tirade from Bill. ‘Bent coppers turned dealers after being kicked off the force. Representing a consortium of bent coppers trading in supplies of confiscated drugs. They’re looking to contact local dealers with a view to expanding their merchandise to include the new drug. They’re moving into a suite in a five-star hotel on the Bay. Be vigilant if you see them out and about. A slip up could cost them – and you.’

Andrew whistled. ‘And what did you two do to deserve that berth?’

‘Our time in hostels for the homeless when you were rolling little balls across greens,’ Peter retorted.

‘No previous knowledge!’ Bill shouted.

‘Sarah Bell and Chris Rivers, minor dealers and ex-cons, supplied by Brown and Ashton. They’re moving on to the estate where the party was held that resulted in three dead and four hospitalised. Brown, Ashton, Bell and Rivers will be the only four in open and regular contact.’

‘Good luck, you brave young things.’ Peter winked at Chris and Sarah.

Dan ignored Peter but Bill glared at him.

‘Michael Sullivan and Maria Sanchez,’ Dan pointed to the two Americans. ‘Columbians who want in on the new drug, looking to contact any South Americans operating on the Bay. Lee Chan, targeting the Triads, Tony Servini, the Italian Mafia. Tom Patel, hoping to infiltrate the Asians, Hassan Eidi, Somali, Ibrahaim Milgi, Kurd, Justin Lebov, Albanian, Veenay Singh, Indian, Alexander Markov, Russian.’

‘How did we find out about this drug?’ Peter asked.

‘Good question.’ Dan spoke even more slowly than usual. ‘It first appeared about a year ago. The locals found a few pills on personal users. It was never traced back to a dealer, although the locals suspected a connection to the housing estate. They decided the quantities were too small to worry about. Then it surfaced at the party in the penthouse and on the estate. Since then large quantities have been touted in clubs on the Bay. “Samples” have been sent to the major dealers offering the formula and marketing rights.’

‘That rumour or definite?’ Trevor questioned.

‘Definite, the locals intercepted the merchandise and half a dozen letters when they picked up an independent dealer on the Bay. He probably would have delivered them if he hadn’t been high as a kite. The drugs were of a lower concentration than the one found in Jake Phillips’s and Alec Hodges’ bloodstream. We think there are two sorts out there, “safe”, as much as any illegal substance can be, and a lethally high dose. So far there have been no more instances of any of the side-effects that Jake Phillips, Alec Hodges and the others are exhibiting.’

‘Locals had a tip-off?’ Trevor suggested.

‘No,’ Bill answered. ‘He took a curve on the wrong side of the road and hit a mini-bus. But at least we now know what we’re looking for. All he could talk about when he was arrested was his “Black Daffodils”. Wanted to know if his pills were safe.’

Bill Mulcahy pointed to the two sets of Briggs and Riley suitcases and ‘carry-ons’ stacked in the corner of Trevor’s office. ‘Yours are red, Collins.’

‘Ashton?’ Peter corrected.

Bill clenched his teeth. ‘We’re in the bloody office …’

‘Getting into character,’ Peter interrupted.

‘This is an undercover operation not a fucking school play …’

‘Grey ones mine?’ Trevor stated the obvious but he had watched Peter wind up their superior too many times to want to watch a repeat performance.

‘Packed with designer clothes and shoes in your sizes. Top of the range – money – not taste. Toiletries, electric razors, personal papers, passports with immigration stamps going back five years. You’re well travelled. USA, Caribbean, Africa, South America … watches.’ Bill opened a box and handed each of them a gold Rolex.

Trevor turned his over. ‘This real?’

‘Asset confiscation from convicted dealers.’

‘I’ll wear mine with pride.’ Peter exchanged his stainless steel waterproof watch for the Rolex. He held out his wrist. ‘Not sure I like it.’

‘It’s not yours to like or dislike. It’s police property,’ Bill reminded him.

‘It’s Peter Ashton’s and he likes it.’ Trevor replaced his own watch.

‘Ashton has no taste,’ Peter complained.

Bill lifted a couple of wallets from the box. He opened one and checked the name on the credit card before handing it to Peter.

‘Slightly worn but nice. Aspinal no less. Custom made or …’

‘Asset confiscation.’ Bill confirmed. ‘There’s a secret pocket we’ve stuffed with Sim cards in the bottom.’ He pulled apart what looked like solid stitching to reveal a gap. ‘You’ve two credit cards apiece plus two thousand pounds cash for incidental expenses. Pin numbers on all the cards are the same as the last four digits of your direct line telephone numbers here. Every penny spent on expenses to be accounted for. Any discrepancy will be taken from your salary.’

‘We claim for all food, drink, accommodation and incidentals?’ Peter checked.

‘Go easy on the drink and incidentals,’ Bill glowered.

‘Ashton has expensive taste and not all of it is tacky. He enjoys fine malt and Havana cigars.’

‘As does Collins,’ Bill sniped.

‘Just getting into …’

‘Character?’ Bill narrowed his eyes. ‘Say that once more and you’ll be paying for your own drinks – and incidentals.’ He reached into the box again and handed them leather cases. ‘Sunglasses, value five hundred pounds a pair. Guns – Glocks, semi automatic. You are both up to date with weapons training?’

‘I am,’ Trevor assured him.

‘Me too, Boss.’ Peter examined the gun and ammunition. ‘Confiscated?’

‘No registration or history attached to either.’ Bill pointed to two piles of clothes on the desk. ‘Casual outfits, shoes and underwear. Change here before you drive to Wales. Go over your covers until you can recite them backwards. You’re coppers turned bad, jumped up working class Flash Harrys. You only have one goal and God, money. You’ll do anything to get it.’

‘I never thought the day would come when I’d see you in Versace and Hugo Boss, Peter.’ Dan entered the office with a small, nervous looking man. ‘Meet Ferdi.’

‘Hello,’ Trevor greeted him warily. Whatever else “Ferdi” was, he wasn’t a fellow officer. ‘I’m sorry about your nephew, Dan.’

‘Thank you.’ Dan abruptly changed the subject. ‘Ferdi’s been given top clearance.’ Dan slowed his speech even more than usual. ‘He’s a hairdresser and make-up artist.’

Peter grinned. ‘You want Trevor to shorten his hair, lose the moustache and pluck his eyebrows.’

‘Over my dead body,’ Trevor growled.

‘Think back to your police college lectures on identity and recognition,’ Dan lectured him. ‘People remember facial hair before features.’

‘It’ll grow again.’ Peter’s words were sympathetic, the grin on his face anything but.

‘You’re both going to get haircuts. Very short haircuts,’ Bill emphasised.

‘Mine can’t get any shorter?’ Peter ran his hand over his thick, brown, close cropped hair.

‘Shaved.’ It was Bill’s turn to smirk. ‘You’re tough guys. We need you looking the part. Easiest way to change someone’s appearance, is shave their head and stick a pair of sunglasses on them. Eric Darrow might have a long memory and you’ll be sniffing around his clubs. He also owns shares in the hotel you’ll be staying in.’

‘Lighten up, boys, or is it boyos. It’ll grow again.’ Dan’s smile was as broad as Bill’s.

‘While Ferdi works on you, memorise your back stories. Ex-coppers, ex-military service, ex-husbands …’

‘That’s a lot of exes,’ Peter commented.

‘On the plus side, you have houses and yachts in Spain,’ Dan handed them two more files.

Peter flicked through his. ‘Do these properties exist?’

‘They exist,’ Dan confirmed. ‘Ownership in the name of your cover.’

‘Can I change Collins to Ashton by deed poll when this is finished?’

‘You can stop buggering around and wasting time, Sergeant,’ Bill ordered. ‘Soon as you’re changed and ready to go, in my office; the goods are packed.’

The ‘goods’ were four bags of cocaine and eight of marijuana.

‘We’ve seized more Charlie and grass in the last six months than anything else,’ Bill explained.

Trevor picked up one of the packs. Both cocaine and marijuana had been packed into plastic envelopes, each containing a gram.

Dan lifted two laptop cases on to Trevor’s desk. ‘These contain functioning laptops with all the standard programmes.’ He unzipped the main section and showed them the latest in wafer-thin, lightweight notebooks. ‘Leads, spare batteries, in these front pockets.’ He unzipped the back section. ‘Place to put the files with photographs of your yachts and Spanish property.’

‘We like boasting?’ Peter sat on the edge of the desk.

‘You’ve met enough bloody dealers to know how they behave.’ Bill’s temper was still simmering.

‘They also have false compartments, Put files in the paper compartment and no one will notice this flap even when the case is open.’ Dan tugged at a small tag that had been folded into the underside of the handle of one of the cases. He jerked it and, it opened. He divided the bags of drugs and packed half of them into the case.

‘Very neat.’ Trevor packed the remainder of the drugs into the second laptop case.

Peter frowned at Trevor. ‘If I saw anyone who looked like him on my beat, I’d run him in on suspicion. Do the locals know about us?’

‘They know uncover operatives are moving in. They don’t know who they are, where they’re from, or where they’ll be. Should you get picked up, we’ll ensure you get released. But only after a visit from your solicitor. His card is in your wallets along with other contacts you may find useful. We’ll call a taxi to take you to the train station. Your car is parked there.’ Bill pulled the keys from his pocket.

‘Only one,’ Peter complained.

‘Treat it with kid gloves. It’s worth seventy-eight grand plus.’

Peter’s eyes lit up like a child who has seen the Christmas presents. ‘Tell me?’

‘Granturismo Maserati, we want it returned in the same state you receive it.’

‘Oh boy – or should it be boyo. Come to Daddy,’ Peter snatched the keys from Bill.

‘Senior officer drives.’ Trevor tried to grab them back.