‘I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Henry.’
The detective superintendent picked up another sheet of paper.
‘Crime forms — for a few very petty offences. Offences which never actually took place but were reported by you as a means to an end.’
Henry read through one carefully. ‘This is one from two years ago. Theft from the person. A bag-snatch. Not robbery. That would have caused too much interest. So, just a snatch and a run with the offender seen to jump into a black Range Rover. No arrest made. Nothing much done about it. But, as a result of this so-called crime, you did a PNC check for top-range newish black Range Rovers in the northwest and came up with’ — he held up a sheet — ‘over twenty.’ He smiled. ‘Should I go on?’
‘You’ll have to, because you’ve lost me here.’
‘OK… eight of these Range Rovers were subsequently stolen — not all at once — but not one was ever recovered.’ His good eye narrowed fractionally. ‘What are the odds of that? You’d expect a couple to turn up at least. But not a one?’ He fished out another piece of paper. ‘This is a recent crime report submitted by you dealing with the theft of property from a building site. Something and nothing, a minor crime. Guess what? The offenders escaped in what was described as a black Range Rover. Then guess what? You did a PNC search for black Range Rovers, which threw up eleven very new ones in the northwest. Then guess what? Four of them got stolen.’ Henry’s voice became serious. ‘And now three of those four are sitting in Harry Sunderland’s warehouse. And the fourth is in a police garage — because it was being driven last night by the man who tried to kill me and Steve Flynn.’
Silence — except for a cell door ominously clanging shut, something timed to accidental perfection.
‘These reports are all a matter of record, Ralph, as are your phone calls to Sunderland and to Steve Flynn. Now, thing is, his wife is dead and I have yet to be convinced she committed suicide or just had a nasty accident.’ He ran his hand over his face, stretching his tired features. ‘And because you warned him I was coming to see him — which you did, didn’t you — I’m deeply suspicious about her death now — which I wasn’t before all this shit started happening.’ Henry poked a finger at Barlow. ‘You are a bent cop, Ralph, and I’m going to unravel all this and you can either help or hinder, I don’t care. But you need to care because, if Jennifer Sunderland was murdered and you knew about it, you’ve had it. And — big “and” — to add insult to injury, the man who tried to kill me and Steve Flynn was driving a stolen Range Rover that is on your PNC printout, and I don’t like people trying to kill me, Ralph. It pisses me off.’ Abruptly he said, ‘This interview is concluded for the prisoner to consult with his solicitor.’ Henry took out the tapes and sealed them and had them signed, then rose to leave.
As he did, Barlow said, ‘What was it, Henry?’
‘What was what?’
‘What was my mistake?’
‘Apart from all this, you mean?’ Henry indicated the files.
‘You know what I mean. What did I do or say to give it away? I’d just like to know what a great detective looks for,’ Barlow said sarcastically. ‘And you’re such a great detective, aren’t you? But actually, we all know you’re not. You make bad judgement calls and you’ve been flying by the seat of your pants for years now, all because you’re up the chief’s arse.’
‘Difference is, Ralph. I’m still flying — but you’ve crashed and burned.’ He gave Barlow a subtle wink.
Henry took the coffee that was proffered as he entered the DI’s office at Blackpool police station and took a grateful swig. He looked at the people assembled therein — FB, Rik Dean, Steve Flynn and Bill Robbins. They had been watching an audiovisual feed from the interview room on a monitor set up in Rik’s office.
‘Well?’ Henry said.
‘Things are moving quickly,’ FB commented. ‘Though I didn’t realize you were so far up my backside.’
Henry laughed. ‘If only they knew the truth.’ He settled on the corner of the desk feeling excessively weary, his mind fizzing.
The door opened and Jerry Tope came in, a piece of paper in hand.
‘Two identifications,’ he announced. ‘Well, ninety per cent certain… the guy at Joe Speakman’s house was Yuri Gregorov; the guy who tried to kill you last night — Vladimir Kaminski, the two Russian enforcers, as we suspected. Oscar Malinowski’s men.’
Henry ingested the news. ‘Russians,’ he said quietly. He’d been face to face with bad Russians before and in his experience they were not pleasant.
‘What about Sunderland?’ FB asked, referring to the other prisoner ensconced in a cell at the far end of the complex.
‘We… let me think,’ Henry began uncertainly. Putting his thoughts in order suddenly became a chore. ‘We know what we’ve got. Dead girl in a mortuary, dead woman in a river, seemingly unconnected, but both having the same dentist in Cyprus. I don’t know what the significance is of that, yet, by the way. Dead woman in river is thought to have something in her possession so valuable that Russian hit men come after it — so what is it? I know we’ve been through this before…’
‘Document?’ Tope suggested.
‘Photo?’ Bill suggested. ‘An incriminating one?’
Henry shook his head. ‘The way forward,’ he said. ‘Husband’s in custody, so let’s ask him. Get into his ribs about why and how she ended up in the drink and what she might have had that was so important. In the meantime I want search teams at Sunderland’s address, Barlow’s address and I want a proper job done at Joe Speakman’s house, too.’
‘Three search teams?’ Rik said. ‘You’ll be lucky.’
‘Make me lucky… I’ll do a preliminary interview with Sunderland, then I’d like to be there when they “spin his drum”, as they say. In the meantime, Jerry, will you start trying to make sense of all this… you know, timelines, backgrounds, relationships, histories, pull a story together.’
‘Love to,’ Tope said, relishing the prospect.
‘Bill, will you help him?’ Bill nodded. Henry then addressed Flynn. ‘What do you want to do, Steve?’
‘Tag along with you, maybe?’
‘OK.’ Henry looked at FB. ‘Boss?’
‘Just get on with it, Henry — do what you have to do and stop brown-nosing, OK?’
Flynn asked Henry, ‘So what was it?’
‘What was what?’
‘The mistake.’
‘Yeah, go on, Henry, tell us… pretty please,’ Rik said.
‘Nothing really… just that when I went with Ralph to break the news to Sunderland that we’d found his wife, Sunderland said something that he couldn’t have known and I picked up on it. The only person who could have told him was someone who knew exactly where the body had been recovered from… I just assumed Ralph had told him, but if it hadn’t been Ralph, it must have been some other cop, probably. But it was him and I think they’re deep into something which probably involves this Chechnyan ganglord, Malinowski. And, unfortunately, Joe Speakman’s in that mix, too.’
For the time being Sunderland was content to be represented by a duty solicitor and was sitting alongside him as Henry entered the interview room and plonked himself opposite. After the tape formalities and necessary introductions, Henry explained this was just a preliminary interview to give Sunderland the opportunity to say something, if he so desired. Further interviews would follow later, after securing and preserving evidence.
‘What does that mean?’ Sunderland asked.
‘The search of your business premises, where items of evidence will be seized, such as stolen Range Rovers.’ Henry watched Sunderland’s reaction to this — just a kink of the mouth. Then Henry said, ‘And your house will be searched, too.’
This news jarred Sunderland. His eyes rose and Henry saw apprehension in them and tension in his whole being. ‘You can’t do that,’ he said.