And, all things being equal, he should have been convicted.
But the phone calls changed all that, put everything else in doubt, and Sweetman got released.
On that day Easton’s team were acting on information from the mystery drug supplier. If they were interested, he said enticingly, there was a mass consignment due into Manchester from the continent. It was theirs for the taking, if they had the bottle. It would set them up for life.
Easton, whilst still at Lancaster Crown Court, had set his team of police officers, led by the murderous Lynch, to pull the job at Birch Services on the M62.
But what they didn’t know at that time was that the drugs belonged to Sweetman.
Now they had this knowledge, but it did not concern Easton too much. What did concern him was that cops were now targets of random attacks. At heart, Easton believed his first love was the service, despite his corruption, and he did not really enjoy seeing other officers hurt. That made him angry. It made him want to destroy Sweetman once and for all. At least if he did it, he would make sure that, if the body was found — which it would not be — it would be in Greater Manchester this time.
Dave Anger could not disguise the look of utter contempt as he regarded Lawrence Bignall, a corrupt cop for whom things had turned out very badly indeed. Bignall was on the edge of the bed in the hotel room. Anger and Henry were on the two chairs in the room. Roscoe leaned against the interconnecting door, arms folded, listening to Bignall chatter away. He was talking as if it was just a friendly discussion with mates over a drink, not a life-changing revelation which would have massive implications for the rest of his days.
He shrugged. ‘Second divorce, second time of being taken to the cleaners, basically left penniless. Ended up in a shit-hole rented flat, no dosh, plenty of debts. . I was ripe for the picking.’ He said this as though that was OK. He eyed the detectives nervously. ‘Sounded like easy money. Deliver this, deliver that, don’t fucking ask questions. Fifty quid, hundred quid. Do it once and walk away, that’s what I should’ve done. Do it twice or more and they have you over a barrel. You’re fucked.’
‘Who’s they?’
‘The Invincibles they call themselves, like I said. Carl Easton and his crew of jacks. Lynch, Hamlet, Rogerson, Spooner. . all that lot. Been together for years. Some retire, others come on board. . like Lynch. He was always unstable as a PC, but he was just the right sort. No conscience. . They rule the city centre.’
‘Tell me about Keith Snell,’ Henry said.
‘Nobbut a little shit. Snouted for Lynch. Then Lynch started usin’ him for deliveries. . trouble was he wasn’t trustworthy. The little shit peeked and got greedy. Fatal error. Put cash in front of someone like that, it changes ’em. Makes ’em avaricious.’ He paused for effect. ‘Did a runner with twenty-five grand, stupid idiot.’
‘And got killed for it.’
‘Yep. Thing is, Lynch actually gave him a chance to give it back. Locked him up about, what, ten days ago? Gave him a chance to hand it over. . yeah, honest. . but he buggered off with it, scarpered to the big lights of Blackpool, which is where we found him.’
‘How did you find him?’ Henry wanted to know.
‘Paid a visit to his bird. .’
‘Grace?’
‘Yeah. . she wouldn’t tell us anything, so Lynch pasted her bad. Then we nearly caught him with Colin the Commando, but he legged it in a stolen car, even though Lynch took a pot shot at him. He gave Colin a smacking, too.’
Henry’s eyes narrowed as he mulled over the words, recalling the bullet imbedded in the back seat of the stolen Ford Escort. ‘Go on,’ he urged, glancing at Anger, who was enthralled by all this.
‘Then we got a call from a guy in Blackpool. Gave us where Snell was.’
‘Who phoned you?’
‘No idea. . Lynch knows. . anyway, we tootle into Blackpool and find him in some dive. He takes a pop at us with his shotgun and I get an armful. Lynch gets him in some backstreet somewhere. Then we drive him up to Deeply Vale and set him on fire. Well, Lynch did. I was bleeding to death in the car. . and the rest is history.’
‘Why Deeply Vale?’ Anger said.
‘Because he thought he was dumping him on GMP, so Easton could then control the subsequent investigation.’
Henry allowed himself an inner smile of congratulation as he thought back to his ruminations at the murder scene, wondering why the body had been left there. There is always a reason why a body turns up where it does.
‘Tell me about the guns,’ Henry said. ‘What’s the history of the gun used to kill Snell?’
‘It was his.’
‘Whose?’
‘Snell’s.’
‘Snell’s gun?’
‘Yeah. He’d used it on an armed robbery months ago, one he’d got locked up for, but never got charged with. The gun got took off him — and others that were found at his pad. They’re in the property store at Arena, guess they’ll be destroyed eventually. I just sneak them out of the store and return them as necessary.’
‘How do you manage that?’ Anger asked.
‘Got a duplicate key to the store and safe.’
‘Jesus!’ Henry uttered. ‘So he got killed with his own gun?’
‘Yep, ironic innit?’
Anger was visiting the toilet. Henry and Roscoe were in the room adjoining the one Bignall was in. He was relaxed now that he had got a weight off his chest and he was feeling safe being looked after by trustworthy cops.
Roscoe eyed Henry with some reverence. ‘You done good,’ she admitted grudgingly.
‘Just doing my job, ma’am.’
Roscoe shook her head. ‘Is there anything more to uncover in the Tara Wickson dog’s breakfast, or have I misjudged you?’
‘You decide,’ Henry said.
The toilet flushed and a damp-faced Anger came out, obviously having had a wash. He wiped the palms of his hands down his trouser legs, then looked expectantly at Henry and Roscoe, waiting for something. They looked expectantly back.
With a jerk of his head, he beckoned Henry to follow him to the far end of the room near the window, where he spoke in hushed tones. ‘This is going to be a massive job. Big implications.’
‘Yep,’ Henry agreed.
‘Needs a careful plan.’
‘Yep.’ Henry suddenly realized that Anger was drowning here, did not know what to do.
‘So,’ the superintendent said, ‘what I propose is this: over to you, Henry. It’s your baby, sort it whichever way you want. Hang back for a while, or wade in, whatever you feel is appropriate. Just plan it, justify it and I’ll back you to the hilt.’
Henry’s surprise could not be held back. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely. . you’ve worked hard on this one, you got the break, you get the glory. If you need any authorizations, I’ll sort them. . how does that sound?’
He did not want to dance up and down with glee. Instead he said, ‘Good.’
‘It’s a two-add-two job,’ Henry admitted. ‘I upset Lynch and his mob. . ha, the Lynch mob,’ he chuckled at his own wit, ‘and someone forced me off the road. Coincidence. . don’t think so. . but, the van was a black Citroen, don’t know the number, and it was being driven by a guy in a clown mask. Ring any bells?’ he asked for the second time.
Karl Donaldson did not need to consider. The vivid memories of the M62 robbery were still with him. ‘Same crew,’ the American said. ‘Gotta be.’
‘Or just a coincidence?’
‘Nahh, screw that, definitely same crew,’ Donaldson said. ‘To bring you up to speed, my trustworthy source, Senor Lopez, set Easton up to steal the coke — part of his master plan to cut off Mendoza’s legs. The drugs’ve been bought with borrowed Mafia money, just another nail in the big man’s coffin. His plan is to somehow retrieve the coke and set up his own show. Mendoza has been dealing with Sweetman for a few years, apparently, and all the time Lopez has had his head together with a guy called Grant, one of Sweetman’s top men, with a view to stepping in at some stage, getting rid of Mendoza and running the show.’