The Sister (45 page)

Nobody said a word for a long time. Finally, she lifted her head and spoke.

"I know about your whiskey, John and I know you are ashamed. I know, because you never were any good at keeping secrets from me, but I don't mind, not as long as I know you can still look after me, when I need you in the night." She smiled the kind of smile that chases clouds away after the rain.

"I'll always look after you," he said. Then he grinned. "I love you more than whiskey." He hugged her tighter than before. They embraced for a long time.

Kennedy didn't think he would ever forget the image of the two of them that afternoon, each holding the other. He smiled wistfully.

His phone buzzed like an angry bee in his pocket, jolting him from his thoughts, it took him a moment to recognise it was his phone. He fumbled, pulling it out complete with a box of aspirin. He pressed the answer button without looking, as he put the phone to his ear.

Something had happened.
"What is it . . . what's up?" A sense of mild panic inflected his voice.

"What's the matter,
Jack,
is the job getting to you? No, don't answer. Don't interrupt. A man was arrested early this morning, and I will have a real problem if he is charged, Jack, and if he is,
if
he is . . . then you'll have a big problem too."

He hadn't been able to interject, the hypnotic quality of the voice somehow rendered him speechless. Finally, words came. "Now you listen to me, I know who you are," he bluffed,

"Stop it, Jack, you're about to make a fool of yourself . . . you don't know who I am at all, nobody does. I could be the guy outside your office pulling wires, or fixing the lift … you wouldn't know, but I know you, Jack, and I mean
really
know you, so you just shut up and listen to me."

He laughed down the line. "This is like a scene from a bad movie . . ."

"Yes, that's
exactly
what it is . . . a really bad scene. Have you told anyone you were the last person to see Marilyn alive Friday night? No, of course you haven't. Going to be a bit late now, don't you think?" The click of a cigarette lighter was followed by the sound of the caller inhaling deeply. "Maybe, maybe not; look, I don't want any trouble, Jack, I have a proposition for you that keeps us all off the hook . . . I'll call you with the details later."

Kennedy faced a predicament. If he owned up to his involvement, it would lead to questions. He would come under suspicion, and he couldn't put his parents through that. In their eyes, sleeping with a prostitute would be shame enough, becoming a suspect was not an option he cared to consider.

He would decide what to do once he'd heard the caller's proposition.

Chapter 94

Kennedy jumped, snatching the phone out of his pocket he looked at the display.
Private number. . . It was him!

He answered and held the phone to his ear. The caller was already talking, "Now listen very carefully, Jack. This is what's going to happen. You boys are holding a Billy Wharton in the cells, you'll arrange his release on bail, it shouldn't be too hard when you tell your colleagues what I'm about to tell you. Wharton has a consignment of arms to collect. He'll be getting a call, anytime in the next twenty-four hours. The guns are coming by air via
Holland; they will drop them from low level into a remote field somewhere in Essex. I don't have a location yet. Once Wharton's out, you'll have him under surveillance; the rest is up to you. Just think what a feather in your cap it'll be when you and your team close down this nasty little operation."

"What's in it for you?" he asked.

"For
me
? You surprise me, Jack. Here I am, trying to help you keep a consignment of weapons from falling into the hands of gangsters all over the country and you ask what's in it for
me?
Potentially, you'll be instrumental in saving hundreds of lives from drug and gun related crime. Just be grateful that I chose you, my friend."

The line clicked, cutting the connection.

He didn't bother trying to have the call traced; all the others to him and his parents had been from cheap, disposable mobile phones. They'd managed to match the telephone numbers to prepaid SIM cards and then to the outlets that sold them. CCTV footage enabled them to identify a number of the kids he'd recruited from the streets outside the shops. He'd given them ten pounds to go in and buy the SIM's for him.

None of the descriptions they gave police was the same twice. He was variously dark-haired, clean-shaven, blonde and bearded or shaven headed. The calls were made from different locations and often many miles apart.

Outmanoeuvred, and trapped in a situation that he couldn't afford to have exposed, Kennedy had a sinking feeling. They would not catch this character unless it was red-handed.

With Marilyn gone, he had no one to confide in.

Kennedy wandered down to the cells; he decided he wasn't going to rush into anything until he'd established a few things for himself. He spoke to the custody officer. "Just the one here tonight, Dawson?"

The officer looked up briefly, before continuing with his paperwork. "Yes, sir, it's really quiet and even
he
isn't here at the moment. I thought while I have the chance I'd catch up on some admin."

"So, what's the brief on him, Dawson?"

"He's been arrested on suspicion of handling stolen goods."

"Where is he now?"

"Drug squad's interviewing him, sir."

"Drug squad?"

"Yes, sir," and pre-empting the next question, he volunteered. "They searched his car, and they not only found a load of jewellery, but they also found a piece of paper hidden in the boot with a phone number on it, sir. No name, just a phone number and he wouldn't say whose number it was - claims he doesn't know."

"And?"

"They did a reverse check; turns out that the phone number was previously used by someone involved in the illegal importation of class A drugs into the country."

"Really? That's a huge shift from getting picked up for handling stolen goods."

"And that's not all, sir," Dawson leaned over the counter, lowering his voice. "Some of that jewellery has been linked to the Midnight man break-ins."

"Jesus, Dawson, this could be the break we've been looking for!" Suddenly, he had a hunch. "I don't suppose you have a record of the telephone number they found on him?"

"No, sir, I don't. All I know is I overheard a DS guy talking about a Danny Lynch."

What's Danny Lynch got to do with all this?

"Let me know when they bring him back down," Kennedy said, and turned slowly on his heels to head back to his office, forehead creased with lines of deep contemplation.

Chapter 95

The caller walked into the local branch of Kennedy's bank and made a cash deposit of five thousand pounds. The cashier printed a receipt and handed it to him. Despite the unusually warm weather, she didn't pay any attention to the fact he was wearing black leather gloves.

The next stage of his plan was almost complete and once outside he couldn't resist grinning. His face lit up, but his lips were stretched painfully tight. Concealed behind his moustache, the scar that ran from under his nose down to his upper lip seemed to anchor the lip in place, allowing them to part just enough to reveal his teeth. The backward slope and inwardly slanted arrangement was reminiscent of those of a shark without the sharp tips, but he looked as if he might bite, and that if he did, he might not let go. Mostly he kept them concealed. They were not for smiling with. His teeth worked best when they menaced people. His top lip stretched tighter.
All you have to do now is plant the receipt.

Kennedy paced across the front of the assembled group, addressing them in a loud voice. "We received a tip off over the weekend. There's to be a shipment of firearms into the country over the next few days," he said, and even though he held his hands together, a slight tremble remained evident. "According to our sources, it's a major consignment of semi-automatic weapons, dozens of them; destined for
London initially, for onward distribution - Manchester, Bristol, Nottingham . . . you know the score." He eyed each one of the officers in turn. "Following on from the same tip off, we apprehended a man named Billy Wharton. A search of his car, revealed him to be in possession of a quantity of stolen jewellery, along with a telephone number used by a major criminal linked to the importation of drugs and arms into the country. Wharton denied knowing anything about the arms, the jewellery or the telephone number. Sound familiar?" he said, attracting a ripple of laughter. "We're currently in the process of trying to trace or match the jewellery to recent burglaries. Some items have already been linked to the so-called Midnight man robberies. We think the organisation responsible is recycling the proceeds of these crimes into the drugs and arms trade; laundering the cash through pubs and clubs.

"As most of you are aware, we held the suspect in custody for approximately twenty-four hours. We released him without charge yesterday. He's under surveillance, and as we've already been informed of the whereabouts of the rendezvous, arrangements are in hand to stake out the premises. To that end, we've secured the unit next door, and we'll have an armed response unit in attendance. We're told Wharton isn't due to make contact with the arms gang until tomorrow, and we're confident that the meeting will lead us to the location of the consignment. The intention is to pick them off as discretely as possible, to avoid alerting anyone further up the chain." Shifting his balance from one foot to the other, he continued. "Intelligence suggests that it's the first of a number of planned drops from planes coming into the remote coastal areas of
North Essex and elsewhere. If we can plug this, we have a real chance of disrupting organised crime in the city and giving them a bloody nose. If we can take the ringleaders out, it'll be a feather in our caps, gentlemen. I'm sure I don't have to remind you, we can't afford any mistakes." He stopped by the desk at the front and picking up a glass of water took a sip from it. His gaze swept across the assembled team. "We need to be ready the minute the call comes in. I'm sure I don't have to remind you how important it is we get a result here. Any questions?"

Kennedy kept busy trying to keep his mind off things, demanding answers to mundane issues he'd never normally become involved in. Theresa was run ragged fetching paperwork. He chased Tanner on the Archie Brooks connection and then without waiting for an answer, switched back immediately to Lynch. "We have to bring him in, Tanner," he'd said, "I think he's the ring leader of a gang responsible for umpteen major crimes."

"SOCA is already onto it, sir."

"I know that, but I want to get to him first."

When Tanner returned to his office, he thought about how jittery and hollow-eyed the chief had looked. He had himself experienced the pain of losing both his parents early on in life. No lingering on, no agonising over each new downward turn. It wasn't good, but it was better than the slow deterioration that the DCI was going through with his mother's decline.

Chapter 96

Saturday March 31st

Lynch was agitated. Like a boxer sent to a neutral corner with the scent of victory in his nostrils; he paced one side of the room, barely able to contain himself. Lean, wiry and deceptively strong, many opponents had badly underestimated him on the basis of size alone, finding out to their cost, that looks aren't everything.

When he'd first started out, he had had the face of an angel. Now marred by old wounds, it bore testimony to the long hard-fought battle up through the ranks, and the scars served as a warning to those that didn't know him that he was not a man to be messed with.

In the light of what had happened to Melissa, and after what she'd told him, he'd managed to keep calm against the odds. He needed to weed out the threat against him. One minute Billy Wharton was in custody and then he was out. Once, people could be trusted to keep their mouths shut, but not anymore. When Billy didn't tell him about his arrest, he'd sealed his own fate. He had to get rid of him. Then he would deal with Tony.

The doorbell rang. He strolled down the hall and opened the door. Terry Bishop stood on the step admiring the spring blooms in the front garden.

"Nice place," Bishop grinned. "How're you doing?"

They embraced at the door. "I'm okay, Tel . . . good to see you, thanks for coming." They sauntered into the lounge together, exchanging pleasantries. Released only the day before, he'd taken the rap for his boss in an assault case five years before. If he hadn't, the gangster would have gone down for a lot longer than he did. In return, he secured a promise that his family would be looked after, and he would get a lump sum when he came out.