About three years ago a very powerful rival clan, the Marinis, decided to move in on Petrone’s businesses. After a series of unsuccessful negotiations, followed by brutal beatings on either side, a Mafia war kicked off when Petrone, it was alleged, ordered the murder of a Marini clan leader in Majorca. He brought in an outside hit man to carry out the killing that also eliminated two other Marini members. Collateral damage.
That was the beginning of a terrible campaign.
Ten more people were dead within three months.
Henry shook his head. And he thought Blackpool had its problems.
Things got too hot for old man Petrone, who certainly could not realistically expect to survive another shooting, and he went to ground and, according to Tope’s research, had not been seen in Naples for over a year. Until he turned up dead on my patch, Henry thought, and a silly lad got caught in the crossfire.
So Petrone got what he deserved, probably. Murdered on the orders of the head of a rival gang, Henry guessed. But Rory Costain did not deserve to die in such a way. This was not the streets of Naples. A seething anger spread through Henry at the thought. His mouth dried up. How dare that old man bring his violence to Lancashire? Henry knew it was his job to fight for the dead and there and then he realized that this murder enquiry was about seeking justice for Rory Costain, not Rosario Petrone who would probably have died by the bullet anyway. Rory Costain was who Henry would be fighting for and he resolved to bring the killers to justice, not least because he owed the Costain family something, as bad as they were.
‘Hey.’
Henry looked up from the notes. ‘Hey,’ he said back to the individual who’d appeared at the office door. For a moment it felt like an exchange in an American sitcom where characters always seemed to greet each other with a cheery, ‘Hey.’
It was Detective Inspector Rik Dean, Henry’s old friend and prospective brother-in-law now that Rik and Henry’s will o’ the wisp sister Lisa were ‘an item’. Lisa had turned up like a prodigal a short while ago when their mother had been taken ill. She had ended up in bed with Rik, the serial seducer whose motto was, ‘Vulnerable is good’. At the time Lisa had been vulnerable to Rik’s undoubted charms, but the two seemed to have weathered that storm and were now firmly in love with each other. Wedding bells were possibly in the offing. But, Henry thought cynically, that step would be one giant leap for mankind.
Henry knew that Rik, who was a DI at Blackpool, had been away on holiday with Lisa.
‘How was Lanzarote?’
‘Nice. Warm. Sunny,’ Rik said entering the room.
‘I quite like its barrenness for some reason,’ Henry said. ‘When did you get back?’
‘Yesterday afternoon. Just landed back at work this evening.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Only just got the chance to come and see what was going on up here. Been going through all the crap, seeing what I have to do, etcetera.’
‘Yup,’ Henry said, wanting to get his head back round to Petrone.
‘Been doing some paperwork — dealing with a few street robberies from last night that need following up. Had a bit of a chat with the victims on the phone.’
‘Right, good,’ Henry said, failing miserably in his attempt to feign interest. Rik was a good detective and he was angling to get him transferred on to FMIT, but it wasn’t as easy as clicking fingers, even if you were a superintendent. Only the Chief Constable could do that, bless him.
‘Quite interesting, actually,’ Rik said mysteriously. ‘I’ve also been down as second jockey on a preliminary interview with a guy who tried to abduct a young lad earlier today. He was posing as a school truant officer, fake ID, the business, then luring kids away for naughties.’
‘I think I saw him being locked up.’ Henry shuffled his papers, hoping that the great detective in front of him picked up on the bit of a clue to get lost.
‘Two things,’ Rik went on, grinning slyly, seeing Henry’s growing impatience.
Henry regarded him stonily.
‘Even earlier, the paedo-guy got a face full of hot tea from one of the teenagers he tried to bullshit into going with him for a wanking session. The description of that lad fits the description of one of the offenders from last night’s two robberies. One took place in town, one just outside the nick on Bonny Street.’
‘Rik, as interesting as this is, I’m kind of bogged down with a double murder.’
Rik grinned even wider and said, ‘Connections, Henry. You’re always bleating on about connections.’
‘What is your fucking point?’ Henry said.
‘My point, sir,’ he said mockingly, ‘is that when Lisa and I got back from Lanza-grotty, we were still technically on holiday. So we decided to go out for a quick jar across at the Pump and Truncheon.’
‘You really know how to treat a lady.’
‘I do, actually… but the point is we only had an hour in there and we had a bit of a barney, and we were knackered from flying, so we left about nine-ish, and who should I spot strolling past the pub down Bonny Street as we came out arguing with each other?’
The hairs on Henry’s nape moved. ‘Go on.’
‘None other than Rory Costain.’
Henry didn’t speak. Just waited for Rik to come good.
‘Obviously, I didn’t really think about it then, but he must have gone down the road and literally bumped into his robbery victim…’
‘A teenage girl,’ Henry stated.
‘And if I’m not mistaken, you had some dealings with her in the front office yesterday evening.’
‘And another — a Goth.’
‘Yup — two robbery victims, both attacked by the same lads I would say, from the offender descriptions, that is.’
Henry’s mind flipped it all over. ‘You said the description the paedo-guy gave you fitted the description of one of the offenders from last night? When did he get tea chucked at him?’
‘This afternoon.’
‘And you said you saw two lads walking past the Pump?’
‘Yep.’
‘Rik, very soon I’m going to pull rank and whup your sorry arse if you don’t tell me everything, like now.’
‘I saw Rory Costain.’
‘And who else, dammit?’
‘Your mate — Mark Carter.’
Henry was already rising to his feet. In his mind he heard the recording of the call made to alert the police to the body behind the shops. He thought he recognized it and now he could put a name to the voice. ‘Grab your coat,’ he said to Rik.
The body had been discovered by a strolling holiday maker, rolling to and fro in the gentle surf of Mellieha Bay, Malta’s longest stretch of beach. Since the discovery some well-meaning civilians had dragged it from the water’s edge before the police arrived.
Donaldson ducked under the cordon tape and went along the plastic walkway that had been unrolled to the body to ensure that everybody who had to, went on the same route there and back.
Lighting had been erected and the body was now hidden from view by windbreaks pushed into the sand. He was relatively impressed by the scene protection, but he doubted much would come from it.
He was allowed to view the body and recognized the corpse as the gaoler from the police station cells in Valletta. The one who had accompanied him on his visits to Fazil and who had now paid the price of corruption and collaboration. He had been shot to death, two to the head, two to the chest.
Donaldson did not need to spend long looking. He came quickly to his own conclusions about motive. Obviously, this simple man had colluded, had his palms crossed with silver, and then paid the price.
Witnesses were always better off dead.
He turned and walked slowly back to the police car that had brought him, glad as hell he hadn’t had sex with a woman he didn’t even know. It had seemed a good idea at the time, as most hare-brained things usually do, but he was relieved he hadn’t gone all the way. Integrity intact — almost, he thought. He would sneak silently back to his room so as not to disturb her. He knew for certain the only woman for him was Karen, the only woman he wanted to make love to. He pulled out his mobile phone and as he sat in the back of the police car, he called her just to tell her how much he loved her.