If I Should Die (Joseph Stark) (41 page)

‘DS Millhaven?’ asked Superintendent Cox.

Groombridge considered his words carefully. ‘More stirred than shaken, sir.’

‘Good show. And our irrepressible trainee investigator?’

‘Fine.’ That was Stark’s line and Groombridge was his guv’nor.

Cox accepted the lie with a smile. ‘Stabbed the tyres with cheap canteen cutlery?’

‘Sir.’ Groombridge adopted Stark’s other line of choice. The CCTV from the terminal car park showed little to arouse suspicion, but little to allay it. The sooner Stark could manage without that cane the better.

‘Shows initiative,’ nodded Cox. He’d watched it too. ‘I must remember to pass on our gratitude to the chaps down there. Sergeant Riley, you said?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Cox smiled. ‘Liam Dawson?’

‘Broken radius and ulna, both bones of the left forearm. He’s claiming brutality.’

Cox rolled his eyes. ‘Stark again, tut-tut. He does seem to prefer … direct methods. Will it stick?’

‘I emailed the CCTV to a chap I know in IPCC. He just laughed and said there should be a law against wasting Complaints Commission time.’

Cox seemed to appreciate the joke but it was no laughing matter and they both knew it. An officer willing and able to do violence, however justified or efficacious, might one day cross the line. ‘Reasonable force again?’

‘Reasonable force,’ nodded Groombridge. ‘FSS are testing Dawson’s blackjack for Stacey Appleton’s blood or DNA. It’s leather, porous, so they’re quietly confident.’

‘Good. Now, tell me about the money.’

Groombridge slid his report across the desk. ‘Seven million, nine hundred thousand euros, in five-hundred-euro notes. The going rate for this kind of laundry is fifteen per cent. Add that back in and it exchanges to roughly eight million Great British pounds, plus change.’

‘The SecuriGroup van heist,’ grinned Cox.

‘And I’m willing to bet Ballistics will match the bullet that killed the guards to the pistol Dawson was waving around today. DS Millhaven says when she cornered him Dawson produced it from the suitcase, inside a plastic bag in which we subsequently found a pair of black rubber gloves like the ones used in the heist.’

‘Stored with the money? Why?’

‘After he was convicted Gary Cockcroft pleaded that killing the guards was never part of the plan. My theory is that Dawson got carried away, and that the gloves will have his DNA inside, gunfire residue outside. When Gary felt the long arm of the law closing in he hid the money along with the gun and gloves as insurance against Dawson.’

‘Which explains why Dawson and Whelan never got their share.’ Cox nodded.

‘Gary uses this leverage to get Dawson to watch over his sister. But when things get serious, Dawson makes him an offer. He and Whelan help Nikki escape if Gary releases their cut. Though the fact that Whelan was willing to risk a small drugs deal with us suggests the idiot didn’t know the big money was back in play.’

‘But Gary wouldn’t let them shift his share abroad too,’ said Cox. ‘Not without him, not with every copper in Britain after them. Too risky.’

‘But the fool trusted his little sister, gave her the laundry ticket not knowing she’d use the familial name to get all the money released. My guess is Nikki and Dawson have been at it for a while. Maybe Dawson began it as a little private revenge, or maybe she seduced him, or both. Either way it looks like they planned to rip Gary and Whelan off and abscond into the sunset with the lot.’

‘But Dawson was just using her to get to the money and evidence.’

Groombridge nodded. ‘Nikki was smart enough to have the courier deliver the money to her at the terminal, just in case Dawson couldn’t be trusted, but not smart enough to say no to one last joint before
they embarked on their new life of luxury together. SOCO found it in a nearby bin, half smoked. They’re testing it for heroin – the pills found were opiate-based painkillers and would’ve hidden it from blood toxicology. With it they found a shot glass and a small bottle of GHB – gamma-hydroxybutyrate. It’s used by some body-builders instead of anabolic steroids because it occurs naturally in the body so is less obvious in blood tests. Hidden in vodka it would work a lot like Rohypnol, the date-rape drug. Either joint or shot would’ve rendered Nikki helpless. Dawson probably sold it as a celebration, then poured pills and more vodka down her before she passed out. And if she didn’t fall for it, he always had his blackjack.’

‘And Stark worked all this out?’

‘Enough to add two and two and get eight million.’

‘We shall have to watch that young man.’

‘He’s perhaps not as young as his years, sir.’

‘No, perhaps not. And DS Millhaven’s name on the arrest sheet – you’re not miffed, I hope?’

‘My team, my collar. Dawson knows – that’s all that matters.’

‘Still,’ Cox grinned, ‘worth a little gloat.’

Groombridge allowed himself a smile. ‘I might drop in on the arraignment, sir, if workload permits.’ The fatal heist had left a bitter aftertaste for six years. It had soured DCI Darlington’s retirement – it had been his last case. Now they had the money, the murder weapon and the remaining perpetrators. The old boy would enjoy this a great deal more than his cheap gold retirement watch.

‘You owe Millhaven and Stark a drink, I’d say.’

‘They’re aware of that, I think. And it gets better, sir. Dawson had a coach ticket from London to Brussels. It was a neat plan – miss the first leg but join the coach at the terminal and pretend he’d been on it all along. Travelling as Steve Baker, he had paperwork for a Swiss bank account in that name and a train booking from Brussels to Basel. SCD7 say the account is linked to an offshore shell company to which Dawson Security sold all its property title deeds for one pound just two days ago. They’re going to take his empire apart. Criminal Gains will confiscate everything.’ Which meant the government would now own seventeen flats on the doomed estate. There was no hope for the Ferrier but demolition. Maybe this would prompt a swifter resolution.

‘Has the courier said anything?’

‘Claims she doesn’t know what we’re talking about. But I sent her photo to NCU and they came straight back with an ID – Brigita Ulmanis. Latvian, with connections to organized crime, trafficking, laundering. They’re keen to have a word with her.’

‘What about Gary Cockcroft?’

‘An illicit mobile phone was seized in his cell last night. Recent calls to his mother, Dawson, and to some unknown mobiles we’re running past NCU, the Latvians hopefully. CPS think they can tie him to assisting escape. Whatever happens, he’ll be behind bars, knowing his nest egg is gone and that his sister betrayed him.’

‘What about their odious mother?’

Groombridge shrugged. ‘Had a hand in the escape. Again, CPS think they have it.’

‘Good show,’ said Cox.

‘It’s not all good news, sir. Now Nikki can’t be convicted it’s harder to pin joint principal on the rest for the killing of Alfred Ladd and the sexual assault on Paula Stevens. CPS are going to offer them accessory instead, so long as they all plead guilty. When it comes to sentencing they’ll claim duress and blame the whole thing on Nikki and Kyle.’

Cox waved a hand. ‘The judge’ll still throw the book at them. And it saves the taxpayer the cost of the trial.’

‘And their victim, Paula Stevens, the trauma of giving evidence and cross-examination,’ added Groombridge. The silver lining. ‘CPS say she’s agreed to plead guilty to manslaughter due to provocation and they’re dropping the murder charge. They reckon she’ll get two to three years suspended with some counselling thrown in.’

‘So Stark’s man Maggs gets his wish, after all,’ said Cox, levelly.

‘Indeed. Stark seemed to enjoy the irony.’

Cox clearly enjoyed it less. ‘I might’ve preferred fewer man-hours wasted.’

‘Sometimes these things just have to play out, sir,’ suggested Groombridge.

Cox sighed. ‘I suppose. You’ll send Stark home?’

‘Just as soon as the CPS have finished interviewing him. DS Millhaven was quick to point out to them the benefits of a prompt, extensive debrief.’

‘I’ll bet,’ agreed Cox wryly. Stark’s stunt was now station legend.

‘I do have another piece of bad news, sir. DS Harper has requested leave of absence. Three months. His wife is having health problems.’

‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ said Cox, though Groombridge knew his efforts to cover for Harper’s absences were unlikely to have escaped notice. ‘I’m sure we can scrape together some paid time.’

‘Thank you, sir. He’s a decent copper.’

‘Well, then,’ said Cox, gathering his papers, ‘we’ll not let one grey cloud spoil our parade. It’s not often we get to break good news to the press. I rather think the honour should be yours. Well done, Michael.’ He stood, and held out a hand.

Groombridge shook it warily. Cox hadn’t called him Michael since he’d promoted him into Darlington’s shoes. It was no secret that Cox fancied himself for advancement. Groombridge had a nasty feeling he might be being groomed as replacement. If Alison got wind of this, he’d never hear the end of it. Twenty years a policeman’s wife, it was no wonder she longed to see him safe behind a desk.

‘Don’t frown, Mike. I’ll be standing right behind you. Can’t let you take all the glory. Think we should have Millhaven and Stark there?’

‘Definitely not, sir.’

‘I suppose you’re right. Come on, then, our adoring public awaits …’

Fran watched from the canteen window as Stark limped across the road. He’d taken the rear exit to avoid the media circus outside the station’s main door. The guv’nor seemed to have them at bay. She’d watch it later on the news. Stark waited on the far pavement with his back to it all, leaning on his cane.

‘Café knife, my arse.’ Fran chuckled to herself. ‘Thanks,’ she’d said to him as he left; they’d seen little of each other during the busy afternoon.

‘Any time.’ He’d nodded wearily.

That was it.

On reflection, ‘thanks’ didn’t quite say it all either. When she was less angry, when she was less tired, when she’d forgotten the fear a little, she would have a few questions to add. Like, how did you know Dawson wouldn’t shoot?
Did
you even know? And how the hell dare you be so bloody reckless?

He would have smug answers, couched in desiccated army-speak, no doubt. She would have to wait until she was a lot less tired and a lot less angry. It was a good job he’d decided to stick around because that might take a while.

A blue VW Polo pulled up, Aqua-hottie at the wheel. Stark got in. Fran sipped her coffee and smiled.

Kelly leant over and kissed him, then wrinkled her nose. ‘You need a shower!’

Stark chuckled. ‘It’s the Spandex. Crime-fighting is hot work.’

‘Get the bad guys?’ She laughed.

‘The citizens can sleep safe in their beds.’

Kelly grinned, pulling the little car out into the traffic. Stark looked out of the window as a beautiful sunny afternoon flickered by. He felt hollowed out, spent, happy – the fading afterglow of victory. There might be criticism, praise, gratitude, anger; there would certainly be misunderstanding. None of that mattered. He had done what he could, what he should, what every police officer would, and that was that.

Kelly glanced at him. ‘Tired?’

‘Tired,’ he agreed.

‘It’s been a long couple of days.’

Stark wound down the window and leant his face into the wind while Kelly steered for his flat. ‘It’s been a long year,’ he said quietly.

One never dares believe this day will come. Publication of a debut novel is a golden milestone and culmination of the time, effort and patience of more than the author alone. In recognition of this I offer heartfelt thanks to my family and in-laws for their love and support, friends for never doubting, all those who read early drafts with encouragement and kindness, my agent for his guidance and toil, my publishing-editor for his faith and enthusiasm, my copy-editor for her kind words and rigour, Penguin Books for taking the leap and above all, my wife and three sons, for all of the above and so very much more.

Published by the Penguin Group
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First published 2014

Copyright © Matthew Frank, 2014

Cover images: Alamy; Plainpicture; Trevillion Images; Shutterstock.

All rights reserved

The moral right of the author has been asserted

ISBN: 978-1-405-91382-9