SENTINEL: an exciting British detective crime thriller (8 page)

The Reverend James Rowland was still drifting in and out of consciousness when his hospital room door opened later that evening.

‘Just a couple of minutes,’ said the nurse to the chaplain. ‘He’s not at all well.’

The chaplain nodded.

‘I do apologise for coming so late,’ he said. ‘We’ve just been so worried about him.’

‘I understand, Reverend.’

Garfield waited until she had gone back into the ward, closing the door behind her. Rowland opened an eye.

‘Charles,’ he said feebly but still with an edge in his voice. ‘I wondered when you’d get here. Come to view your handiwork?’

‘What a terrible thing to suggest about a man of peace.’ The chaplain pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down. ‘However, I sincerely hope that you take this as a warning, James.’ He patted the vicar’s hand, dislodging the cannula. ‘I really do.’

Rowland looked at him balefully.

‘You see, James,’ continued the chaplain, ‘I have told you before that your campaign has gone far enough. Time to shut your mouth, let things take their course. You can’t save St Mark’s now. Time you acknowledged that. For the sake of your health if for no other reason.’

Rowland stared at him defiantly.

‘I will not give up the fight to save the church,’ he said, ‘and if you think that you can come in here and…’

‘I talked to our auditors today,’ said the chaplain blandly, examining the fingernails on his right hand with exaggerated interest. ‘And guess what they told me?’

The vicar looked blank.

‘They think that someone has had their hand in the collection plate at St Mark’s,’ said the chaplain with a shake of the head. ‘Several thousand pounds has gone missing and I reckon that it turned up in your pocket. Tut, tut, James.’

‘That’s a foul lie,’ exclaimed Rowland, sitting up and wincing.

‘Is it? Is it really, James? Who else could it be? I mean, apart from you who else handled the cash?’

‘George Roberts but…’

‘I can’t see such a venerable old man as George stealing from the church, can you? I mean, the man has a chest full of medals. And, yes, I know that his toe-rag of a grandson is a druggie but I am not sure that he had access to the money. In my experience, George has always been very careful about that kind of thing.’ The chaplain’s voice hardened. ‘No, you are the culprit. That’s what we will tell everyone, including the police.’

The vicar stared at him is disbelief.

‘But why would you that?’ he said.

‘Because a little bird tells me there’s a police file suggesting that you did the same thing in Northampton. I didn’t want to mention it – it hardly reflects well on our recruitment procedures – but needs must when the Devil drives.’

‘But I didn’t do it,’ protested Rowland.

‘Who cares if you did or not? All I need is for you to shut the fuck up.’ The chaplain’s voice was harsh. ‘You see, I hear that you are planning some kind of press conference.’

Rowland looked guarded.

‘I may be,’ he said.

‘I would hate to think that you had misinterpreted some of the things you might have heard,’ said the chaplain. ‘And I would hate it even more if you were thinking of going public. See, you’re going to need some friends but friendship comes at a cost.’

‘It’ll take more than some trumped up allegation to keep me quiet.’

‘Quite so.’ The chaplain smiled thinly, reached over and tapped the vicar on the head, causing him to cry out in pain and slump back in the bed. ‘But I would hate to think that you had got hold of the wrong end of the stick. I believe that you have already seen the other end of the stick, have you not?’

The vicar stared at him.

‘Don’t tell me that you ordered this?’ he said in horror.

‘Would I do a thing like that? However, no one likes a martyr, you know. Ask Jesus.’

‘How dare you speak like that about our risen Lord,’ hissed Rowland.

‘Oh, cut the religious claptrap, James,’ snapped the chaplain. ‘It won’t wash with me.’

Rowland was about to reply when the nurse walked in.

‘I am sorry, Reverend,’ she said to the chaplain, ‘but I must ask you to leave now. He needs his rest.’

‘Of course, my dear,’ smiled the chaplain, walking back towards the bed and reaching down to pat the vicar’s hand sympathetically. ‘Keep the faith, James. We will make sure that you are well taken care of. You can be assured of that.’

Rowland did not reply and the chaplain walked out of the ward with a slight smile on his face.

‘He seems nice,’ said the nurse, taking a thermometer out of her breast pocket and giving it a shake. ‘Now, let’s see how you are doing, shall we? Oh, look, your cannula has come free. You really must be more careful, Reverend.’

Again, James Rowland did not speak. Somehow, he could not summon the words.

Chapter ten

The City Hall clock had just struck eight when Radford drove through rainy streets, their pavements glistening in the light cast by the lamps, and parked his car outside the Victorian building that stood silent and, for the most part, in darkness. He was just about to ring the bell at the night entrance round the side of the building when his mobile phone rang.

‘Radford,’ said the inspector, pulling the device from his coat pocket and taking the call.

‘It’s me. You alone?’

‘You have no idea.’

‘Are you?’

‘Yes,’ said Radford, walking back into the street. ‘Yes, I’m alone. Didn’t think I’d be hearing from you, mind. Thought you’d be keeping your head down. I take it you heard what happened to the vicar?’

‘Yeah, I did. There’s a lot of shit flying and de Vere is going round with a face like thunder. I have never seen him rattled like this. Things are moving and moving quickly, Danny. Look, you did not hear this from me, right?’ The man’s voice sounded suddenly shaky, frightened.

‘Usual arrangement.’

‘Yes, well make sure you stick by it. If anyone traces this back to me, I will be killed. They will stop at nothing and now I hear that you’ve had to let Garvin go. Jesus, Danny, I hope you know what you’re doing.’

Radford thought of the battered and bruised clergyman lying in his hospital bed.

‘So do I,’ he said. The inspector sat down on a bench outside City Hall, glancing round to make sure that no one was eavesdropping his conversation. The street was empty. ‘What you got for me then?’

‘For a start, I know who the developer behind the deal is now.’

Radford sat up. ‘You do?’

‘Yeah. You’ll not find a single piece of paperwork or email with his name in it, though. They have covered their tracks very thoroughly. Shell company, fake accounts, the lot. And the shredder has been going non-stop tonight. You ever heard of a man called Tony Hankin?’

‘What, the guy who donated half a million to charity last year? Practically qualified for a sainthood, from what I hear.’

‘That’s him.’

‘We never had him down for a bad ‘un. Bit of a wide boy but nothing more.’

‘Let’s just say that he’s got a good PR girl. No, all teeth and smiles on the outside that one, particularly when the media are around, but like a shark on the inside. I understand that the deal has to be signed on Sunday or he’ll pull out.’

‘And Rowland knows?’

‘They seem to think he found out earlier this week. Not all the details but enough. They wanted to keep it secret but if the vicar goes public…’

He did not finish the sentence. He did not need to.

David Roberts sat in the darkness of the living room for half an hour, waiting for the pounding of his heart to ease. Gradually, the others noticed his presence through their drug-induced haze.

‘That you, Davie?’ said Guy Roper, sitting up and running a hand through blond hair that was lank and caked with dirt.

‘Yeah, it’s me.’

‘Got any smack?’ asked Roper.

‘Sorry.’

The dark haired one, Jonathan Farron, also sat up and peered into the darkness through sunken, bloodshot eyes which took a while to focus.

‘Jeez, you look like shit,’ he said when they did.

‘Coming from you…’ replied David. ‘Listen, I’m in big trouble. Got caught in the church by some coppers – they’re really twitchy after the vicar was done over.’

‘What, that Rowland guy?’ said Farron.

‘Yeah, baseball bats. He looked real bad. Might die, I reckon.’

‘Pity, he wasn’t a bad type,’ said Roper. ‘At least he let us in when it was cold. Who did him over?’

‘That’s the problem,’ said David.

‘What, you fucked over a vicar?’ Even in his drug-addled state, the revelation seemed to shock Roper. ‘Jesus, David.’

‘Na, not me but I did something just as stupid. See, I knifed a copper.’

‘You did what?’ Roper could not contain the horror in his voice.

Farron looked aghast.

‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘I was in the church when the vicar got done over, trying to find some money for smack. Two blokes with bats. One of them was that psycho Des Cranmer. I hid in one of the store cupboards. I was about to get out when the cops came back. I panicked and stuck the bastard.’

‘You kill him?’ asked Roper.

‘Na, but he was cut real bad.’ David looked frightened. ‘I can’t go inside, Guy. You know what they would do to lads like me. Copper’s son. I had to get away. Chucked the knife in the canal. I reckon they think it’s me what did the vicar over as well.’

The two druggies stared at him, suddenly thinking clearly for the first time that day. That month.

‘And did you?’ asked Roper slowly. ‘Did you do the vicar?’

‘Course I didn’t. You’d have to be off your head to do that. Thing is, it won’t take them long to track me down here, they’ll be checking all these kind of places, the city centre is crawling with woodentops. I need somewhere to go.’

‘Too fucking right you do,’ said Farron, struggling to his feet. ‘Last thing we want is the cops searching this place. I’ve got £50 worth of speed, can’t have them finding that. That’ll get me sent back inside, for sure.’

Roper nodded. ‘You got to get out of here, Davie,’ he said. ‘And quick. I ain’t going back inside for anyone.’

‘But where do I go?’

‘I don’t care,’ said Farron, walking over and grasping him by the shoulder, ‘just get the fuck out of this place.’

‘Try the warehouse,’ said Roper.

All three of them froze as the darkness of the room was illuminated by flashing blue lights in the street and they heard voices. David ran over to the window and saw Perlow and three uniforms getting out of two patrol cars.

‘Could be too late for that,’ he muttered.

Cursing under his breath, he ran out into the hall and careered towards the back of the house, sprinting down the narrow galley kitchen and wrenching open the back door just as a uniformed officer barged his way through the back gates, knocking one of them off its hinges.

‘Come on, son,’ said the policeman, seeing him framed in the back door. ‘You’re already in enough trouble as it is. Don’t make it worse.’

David hesitated for a few moments and the officer took a few steps forward.

‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘Nice and calm.’

David held up his hands in resignation then surprised the officer by lunging forwards, knocking him off balance. As the startled officer fell into the dustbin he gave a shriek of pain as his ankle snapped, David ran out into the back alley. Looking left, he saw another uniform appear at the end and heard him shout so he turned the other way and ran down the alleyway and out into the street. To his relief, it was deserted so he ran fast and hard until he was well away from the squat and could slow down, his breath coming heavy and laboured, and suddenly acutely conscious of the pain in his injured knee.

Back in the house, the uniforms had burst into the living room and rounded up Roper and Farron.

‘Hey!’ protested Roper, trying to struggle free of a uniform’s grip but too weak to do so, ‘we ain’t done nothing wrong!’

‘Well, well,’ said Perlow, recognising him through the gloom. ‘If it isn’t Guy Roper. Wondered which sewer you had crawled into. You look shit.’ He glanced at the other drug user. ‘Who’s your pal then?’

Roper said nothing but one of the uniforms said, ‘That’s Jonny Farron. Right smackhead. They both are. Lifted them for dealing few months back. The soft bitch of a magistrate gave them another chance. Not sure they’ll be so lucky this time.’

‘Maybe they can help themselves,’ said Perlow, staring hard at both of them. ‘Where’s David Roberts?’

‘Never heard of him,’ said Roper. He twisted to look at the uniform. ‘Gerroff, you’re hurting my arm!’

‘I’ll hurt a damn sight more than that,’ snarled the uniform as his colleague with the broken ankle, limped into the room and slumped heavily onto the sofa, his face ashen and twisted in pain.

‘This is police brutality,’ protested Roper as the officer twisted his arm even more so that he squealed in pain. ‘I’m going to report you to…’

‘Listen, sunbeam,’ hissed the uniform, ‘my mate is in hospital getting his face stitched back together thanks to your scumbag pal and Dennis here does not look too clever either so you tell us where he is or…’ He let the unfinished sentence hang heavy in the musty air of the living room but gave Roper’s arm another twist.

Despite the threat and despite the ugly expression on the uniform’s face, neither Farron nor Roper replied.

‘Take them away,’ sighed Perlow, nodding at the uniform. ‘We’ll find him with or without their help. He’ll not get far. Oh, and search the place for drugs. They’ll learn soon enough not to fuck us about.’

The night security man let Radford in through the side entrance of City Hall and up the ornate stairs to the second floor, along dimly-lit corridors, the inspector’s shoes clicking on the marble floor as they walked. When they reached the office of Jason de Vere, the security man ushered Radford in and left them alone. The council leader was standing at the window, staring down at the traffic, his angular frame silhouetted against the lights of the night-time city. He did not turn as Radford took his seat.

‘Who was on the phone to you just now?’ asked the council leader. ‘It sounded pretty intense.’

‘Yeah,’ said Radford, inwardly cursing himself for taking the call where de Vere could look down on him, ‘seems there’s a problem with my PPI.’

‘We seem to have a bigger problem than that,’ said de Vere, still not turning round.

‘
You
have a problem, Jason. Not we.’

Finally, the council leader turned back into the room and walked over to sit down behind his desk. He eyed the inspector in silence for a few moments. De Vere had always found the detective intriguing; every time he thought that he had worked him out, the DCI did or said something to make him think again. Perhaps, thought de Vere as the DCI calmly returned the gaze, that was what had attracted him to the officer in the first place. The idea of turning the unturnable. De Vere knew that every principle has its price. Now was the test of all that he thought he had achieved with the chief inspector.

‘I prefer we, actually,’ he said. ‘As I have made clear to you in the past, Danny, this partnership between police and council comes with a measure of accountability.’

‘Dress it up in whatever words you fancy, Jason, but I am not sure I can help you if you are connected to the attack on the vicar.’

De Vere frowned.

‘Oh, don’t look like that,’ said Radford. ‘Thumping Garvin was the only thing I could think of at the time but it won’t buy you much time. They’ll keep me on the case but I will have to play it straight down the line.’

‘What if I said that I cannot be connected to the assault, though? Would that change things?’

‘I assume that you have covered your tracks well enough, Jason, but that will not stop people asking awkward questions. I take it that you
are
involved?’

‘You are such a suspicious man, Danny,’ said de Vere. ‘I assure you I cannot be connected to the assault.’

‘That’s not what I asked. You are playing with words again.’

‘OK. I am not involved.’ The reply was firm. Confident.

‘Then who is?’

‘I am not at liberty to speculate.’

‘You might not be at liberty to do anything soon. Did you know it was going to happen?’

The council leader hesitated. A first chink in the armour. A moment of uncertainty.

Go on, give me something. No one is listening, just me and the wire. Let’s end this.

‘No comment,’ said de Vere eventually.

‘Yeah, that’ll sound good on a police interview tape.’ Radford leaned forward in his chair and eyed the council leader intently. ‘Look, Jason, don’t think I’m not grateful for your patronage over recent months, you know I am, but there are limits to what it buys. I can keep you out of this but only if you give me something in return.’

‘Like what?’

‘I need to know who is involved and why?’

‘My sources tell me that you are looking for some young drug addict. Attacked one of your officers with a knife. Surely you should be looking at him?’

‘Your sources seem remarkably well informed, Jason.’

‘You’re not my only friend in the force, Danny. I know things that not even you know. I am sure that it would be a much more profitable pursuit were you to look for this unfortunate young man instead of spreading malicious falsehoods about me. They tell me he is called David Roberts if that helps.’

‘OK so what if I believe you?’ Radford sat back in his chair, wondering as he often did where Jason de Vere obtained his information. ‘That still leaves Garvin. The Roberts kid was just wrong place, wrong time.’

The reply did not seem to please de Vere but he said nothing.

‘Talking of wrong time,’ continued Radford, ‘why would anyone want James Rowland silenced now anyway? I mean, he’s been banging on about this for months.’