Nightmare City (50 page)

Henry went slowly down to the custody office. It was a painful
journey, not only because of the soreness of his body (his chest
and ear were hurting dreadfully) - but because of the dead weight
on his shoulders.

How had they done this in such a short space of
time?

How had he fallen for it so easily?

Fool.

Yet, in retrospect, there had been nothing tangible to
suspect. Odd twinges, niggles, some bad feelings, yes. Other than
that, nothing. A bit like a bogus gas official knocking on your
door. You’re not completely happy, but you let him in, he leaves
and then you find your life savings have gone.

Happens all the time. People get conned. Even the ones who
would never imagine in a million years they could be a victim of
such a crime.

And all because he had rattled a few cages without even
realising there were tigers inside them. The NWOCS - and Tony
Morton in particular had close ties going back many years with
Harry McNamara. It was obvious that he was being protected. And now
the ‘Conroy connection’ had been revealed by Karl Donaldson and
those photographs taken by MI5. A proper little triumvirate.
Conroy, McNamara and Morton. All protecting one another, no doubt.
All in each other’s pockets.

And FB too.

Henry shivered at the thought.

Frightening.

He reached the custody office and booked himself a set of
tapes out for the interview. Eric Taylor walked into the room from
the cell corridor.

‘
Why?’ whispered Henry.

‘
To help you, of course.’ Taylor moved in close to Henry so
they were within earshot only of each other.

‘
How much did they pay you?’

‘
Don’t know what you mean.’

‘
How much did they fucking well bribe you to alter that
custody record, Eric?’

‘
Don’t you mean - how much did YOU bribe me?’

A PC walked in, whistling. The two men drew apart from each
other, a look of loathing on Henry’s face. ‘I want to interview
Rider,’ he said, now businesslike. ‘I’ve booked a set of tapes
out.’

Taylor flicked open the current custody record binder and went
to Rider’s.

‘
He says he wants someone telling he’s here and he wants to
make a phone call.’

‘
He can have what the hell he wants,’ Henry said.

‘
Sign here.’ Taylor’s forefinger pointed to the space in
Rider’s record where Henry had to sign to take responsibility for
the prisoner. ‘Last time I gave a prisoner to you, you kicked him
in the balls,’ Taylor said.

‘
Allegedly.’

They found the first address in Fleetwood. Donaldson parked
outside the house, which was a semi-detached council
house.

‘
What’ve we got here, honey?’

She had the relevant statements on her knees. ‘This man
witnessed the robbery. He was in the shop when the gunmen burst in
and fired the shotgun into the ceiling. He gave a pretty good
account and some detailed descriptions which have been watered down
on the amended statement.’

‘
How are we gonna approach him? He ain’t gonna like it a whole
bunch when he finds out his statement’s been tampered
with.’

‘
Let’s just play it by ear.’

She kissed him on the cheek and alighted from the
Jeep.

Rider sat up straight when he heard the key in the lock of his
cell door. The gaoler, a young PC with less than two years’
service, beckoned him. ‘You’re going to be interviewed
now.’

Rider half-thought of being awkward. The idea of a few
hairy-assed coppers laying into him with feet and fists, however,
did not appeal to him. Ten, fifteen years before, they would have
had to drag him from the cell screaming and kicking and he would
have taken great delight in whacking a few of the boys in blue in
the process. Times had changed. He wasn’t the hard man he once was
and the events of the last few days had proved that, even though he
had killed a man. It hadn’t been easy to do and as soon as the
trigger had been pulled he had regretted it.

Not that he was about to bare his soul to whoever interviewed
him. They would get nothing from him.

Rider stood up wearily.

The PC stepped to one side, allowed him past and followed him
down the cell corridor.

He was taken to an interview room where Henry Christie was
waiting for him.

Rider sat down on the chair on the opposite side of the table
to Henry. At one end of the table, next to the wall, was the double
tape machine. Stuck to the wall above it was the mike. The sealed
tapes and various documents were on the table.

The gaoler left the room on a nod from Henry.

Henry opened his mouth to speak, but closed it when the door
reopened and Siobhan Robson entered the room. She sat down next to
Henry with a smile. ‘Just want to see how a professional operates,’
she whispered to him.

Henry sighed. He unpacked the tapes and slotted them into the
machine.

Obviously they were going to make sure he did as he was
told.

The witness was good.

Karen began by showing him a copy of the ‘amended’ statement
and asked him to read it carefully. He obliged. When he had
finished he looked up at them and said, ‘It might be my bloody name
on top, but I didn’t say that.’ He was very precise and pointed out
the discrepancies.

She showed him Degsy’s copy then. He glanced through it
quickly and declared, ‘That one’s mine.’

She and Donaldson exchanged a glance of quiet
triumph.

‘
What’s this all about? Why has it been changed?’ the witness
asked.

‘
We’re not sure,’ Karen answered. ‘But would you mind making a
further statement, telling what’s just gone on now? I know it’s a
real imposition and it’ll take a while to do, but we think it’s
very important.’

She looked at the witness with her big wide eyes and a smile
which could have melted granite. He immediately said, ‘Yes, no
problem.’

Hunt keyed in Tony Morton’s mobile number into his own and
pressed the send button.

‘
They’ve just come out of the house, boss,’ he said. He gave
the address to Morton and said, ‘What d’you want me to
do?’

‘
Stick with ‘em,’ ordered his Chief Superintendent. ‘I want to
know what the fuck’s going on - if anything.’

‘
Will do.’

Donaldson’s Cherokee pulled away from the kerb. Hunt dropped
the mobile onto the passenger seat and followed.

Morton looked at the address given by Hunt with a puzzled
expression. It meant nothing to him and he wondered if the two
people were simply making house-calls to friends.

Hunt had also given him the registered number of the car he
was following. Morton tapped the number for a second or two before
picking up the internal phone and dialling down to the
communications room where there was a PNC terminal.

The first interview was concluded. Rider had declined the
offer of a solicitor, waiting until he knew what sort of evidence
the cops had on him.

Henry, of course, was pissing in the dark against a pretty
strong wind because he knew next to nothing about the case and
would need to know an awful lot more about it, Rider, Munrow and
their antecedents before he really began to probe.

Throughout, Rider had been non-committal. He was not exactly
obstructive, but he wasn’t helpful and the interview achieved
nothing.

After Rider had been taken back to his cell, Siobhan dragged
Henry back into the confines of the interview room. Once behind the
closed door, she cut into him. ‘You’ll have to do a damned sight
better than that, Henry, if you want to keep your nose
clean.’

‘
I’m new to this game. I might’ve been known to bend the rules
in the past, but I’ve never actually fitted anyone up before. I’m
just learning,’ he said sarcastically. ‘You’re the fucking
expert.’

‘
And here’s some tips, baby,’ she snarled. ‘Let’s begin with
the arrest.’

‘
I’m listening.’

‘
Verbal him up.’

‘
What? “It’s a fair cop, guv, you’re too good for me” kinda
thing?’

She nodded. ‘Something like that. I’ll back you
up.’

‘
You weren’t even there.’

‘
So?’ she shrugged. ‘And what about the journey back to the
nick?’

‘
He didn’t say a word.’

‘
Yes, he did - he kept blabbing about how sorry he was, how
he’d set Munrow up, how he’d shot him. Didn’t you hear him,
Henry?’

‘
No,’ he said bleakly.

‘
I think you did ... and what I suggest you do is go away and
write your arrest statement to include these things. Then let me
have a look at it. Then you can really start to get into the
bastard’s ribs. He really did it, y’know?’

‘
He may well have done - but there’s no evidence against
him.’

‘
There will be, Henry,’ she reassured him. ‘You just need to
get creative.’

‘
How the hell do you sleep at night? Christ! How many times
have you done this?’

‘
A few, Henry ... and very well, actually.’

‘
What’s this all about, Siobhan?’ he pleaded. ‘How far does it
go?’

‘
You don’t need to know, Henry. Not yet, anyway. Maybe when
you’ve settled into your role, accepted the inevitable, shown you
can be trusted. Maybe then, but for now, all you need to worry
about is getting Rider charged with murder - and making it
stick.’

They had problems finding the next house. The map didn’t seem
to make sense and they drove down a few wrong turns before they
eventually pulled up outside.

‘
Men don’t listen...’

‘
... and women can’t read maps.’

They laughed. It was one of their favourite personal jokes,
often quoted to each other after they had attended a seminar of the
same name. Today it seemed totally appropriate.

The night was drawing in quickly. Lights were coming on. The
rain made it darker than ever.

‘
At least it’s confirmed something to me, all this chasing our
tails up and down the mean streets of Fleetwood.’

‘
Oh - what?’

‘
That we’re being followed.’

‘
Can’t seem to work out the number of the house they’ve gone
into,’ Hunt was saying to Morton via the mobile. He told him it was
on Douglas Place. Morton wrote it down at his end.

He looked at what he’d written. Next to it was the result of
the PNC check which told him that the vehicle was a Jeep Cherokee,
owned by someone called Donaldson who lived in Hartley Wintney in
Hampshire. The owner’s name meant nothing to him, but he knew
exactly where Hartley Wintney was - not five minutes away from the
Police Staff College at Bramshill where he had attended several
courses for high-ranking officers. And from where he had extended
his business interests with likeminded detectives who were happy to
feather their nests for comfortable retirements by supplying Morton
with details of police operations which might affect him and
Conroy.

‘
Donaldson, Donaldson. . .’ He worked the name through his
mind. Nothing came to mind, other than the Bramshill
connection.

The cell door opened.

Rider had been dozing on the plastic mattress, a very hairy
blanket drawn up to his chin. He sat up and scratched his head.
There was something very flea-like about the cell which made him
itch all the time.

It was the custody officer, Sergeant Taylor, who had been most
fair with him during his stay.

‘
I know you said you didn’t want one,’ Taylor said
apologetically, ‘but a solicitor has turned up saying that he is
acting for you. If you don’t want him, I’ll tell him to sling his
hook. But, to be honest, mate, in was in your position, I’d have
one. You need all the help you can get.’

Rider rubbed his eyes.

He hadn’t been banged up for long, but already he was aware of
his own bodily odours. As much to escape them, the cell and his
solitude, he stood up and said, ‘I’ll see him.’

The solicitor’s interview room was bare, functional and not a
place in which to linger. There was a table (screwed to the floor)
and two chairs.

Rider entered the room and the solicitor got to his feet. He
proffered a hand and introduced himself as Pratt.

When the custody officer had reversed out and closed the door,
Pratt said, ‘You’re probably very surprised to see me.’

‘
Considering I hadn’t asked for a brief yet - yes,’ admitted
Rider. ‘Amazed would be more accurate.’

‘
I’ve been asked to represent you by a third party, on the
proviso that you do something for that third party
first.’