And now he was in the middle of all this corruption. He had been corrupted. Fallen hook, line and stupidity.
He explored his options.
The first was to carry on with what he was doing and involve the Donaldsons in a game which might get them hurt. Or perhaps he should just accept his lot, concentrate on getting Rider convicted and then plead to be freed from his obligation to them.
He rubbed his temple with forefinger and thumb. In his mind’s eye he saw Morton, Conroy and McNamara looking pityingly down at him as he made his plea. They would never willingly let him go. He was too much of a prize. Another bent cop in their pocket.
Yet Henry did not want to be a bent cop, was not a bent cop and never would be… He slammed the gearbox into first and accelerated out into the stream of traffic. There was no way he could allow his life to be compromised and dominated by people who had an illegal hold on him.
He would fight them.
But he knew he could not do it alone.
Five minutes later he was parking in the rear yard and walking towards the police station. He dashed up to his office and took a piece of equipment from a drawer in his desk, and after checking it worked, he went down to the custody office, avoiding any meetings with his friends from the NWOCS.
It was unusually peaceful in the charge office. The afternoon Custody Sergeant lounged in a chair behind the custody desk. Henry knew the Sergeant well, but she seemed distant and slightly wary of him.
‘ You OK, Sal?’
‘ I’m OK, Henry,’ she said, emphasising the ‘I’m’.
Henry shrugged off her attitude; he couldn’t be bothered. He asked to see Rider.
She made an entry in the custody record. ‘Use interview room two, will you?’
‘ Sure.’
Henry waited in the room until a tired-looking, slightly bedraggled Rider was steered sleepily in.
‘ I’ll lay it on the line, John,’ Henry began without preamble. ‘I want to know everything you know about Ron Conroy’s criminal activities and corrupt connections with the North-West Organised Crime Squad, and anything else you’ve got on him. The more I know, the more evidence I gather, the more chance we both have of getting out of this by the skin of our teeth.’
‘ You’re asking a lot, mate. What do I get in return? Charged with murder, then iced by Conroy at some non-specific time in the future?’
‘ No — you won’t get charged.’ Henry shook his head. ‘I’ve decided that if you do what I ask, tell me what I want to know, then I’ll stick my neck out for you. I promise that you will not be prosecuted for the murder of Charlie Munrow.’
‘ Do you have the authority to make that promise?’
‘ Probably not — but believe me, John, if I have the power to fabricate evidence to convict you of a crime, then I also have the power to get you off a charge. But I believe that if you come across, I’ll be supported one hundred per cent by the people I go to with the information.’
‘ Who will that be?’
‘ Probably my Chief Constable.’
Rider sat back. ‘That’s not enough. These are dangerous people. They kill.’
‘ I know.’ Henry marshalled his thoughts for a few seconds. ‘I’ll guarantee that, if you want, you’ll get put on a witness protection scheme. Isa too, if you like. New identities, new locations, some cash, new job… whatever we can do. That is my second promise to you.’
Rider nodded thoughtfully. His eyes locked into Henry’s. ‘And what about you? Just ‘cos you’re a cop doesn’t mean you’re not a target.’
‘ I imagine,’ said the detective, ‘that we’ll probably both end up stacking shelves in Asda in Newcastle in our new lives.’ He grinned. ‘So what about it? It’s a lot to ask.’
‘ Fucked if I do, fucked if I don’t,’ Rider said pragmatically. ‘Having said that, I’m not sure how much help I’ll be to you. Ten years ago I knew everything. A lot of what I know now is third-hand.’
‘ Just start blabbing. I’ll be the judge of what’s useful and what’s not.’ Henry produced the hand-held tape recorder out of his pocket and placed it on the table. ‘Let’s have a quick preliminary chat here… just to get going.’
And the tiny radio mike which had been secretly fitted underneath the wall microphone of the official tape machine picked up everything that was said and relayed it to the speaker and tape recorder in Tony Morton’s temporary office.
He was expecting it, but when the knock came Eric Taylor nearly jumped out of his skin. He trailed reluctantly to the door and opened it. He recognised Karen Donaldson immediately from her Lancashire days.
‘ Ma’am,’ he said nervously. ‘Come in.’
She stepped across the threshold accompanied by her husband who nodded curtly at Taylor.
‘ This is my husband, Karl Donaldson. He’s with the FBI in London. He’s assisting with this matter.’
Glumly Taylor nodded.
‘ Where’s the money?’ Donaldson asked.
Taylor picked up the briefcase he’d been given and opened it.
‘ Sit down, Sarge,’ Karen said.
All three sat. Taylor alone in the middle of the settee, the others on chairs.
‘ What we need to do here, Eric, is come at this from a different perspective than you simply taking a bribe, even though that’s the bottom line, isn’t it?’
Taylor remained tight-lipped. He wriggled his shoulders pathetically.
‘ In order to clear your good name,’ her voice was sweet and hypnotic in its rhythm, ‘we need to apply some creative thinking, don’t we? I suggest we go from the premise that you simply played along with these people who "bribed" you, because, in fact, you were acting on our behalf by gathering evidence of corrupt and improper practice. Do you get my general drift?’
‘ You mean I was sort of acting for you?’
‘ Spot on. You’re a bright boy,’ Donaldson said impatiently.
‘ Henry won’t suffer, will he?’ Taylor said. ‘I feel really bad about that.’
‘ No, because he’s doing the same thing — working to expose corruption at high level. Now, all you need to do is make a detailed written statement outlining your role in this investigation and then what happened and who gave you the money. Simple.’
‘ What if I don’t do it?’ His eyes narrowed as he tested the waters.
‘ You’re fucked,’ Donaldson rasped darkly.
Henry knew he was taking a risk by spending so much time talking to Rider. Siobhan could come down at any time. Still, he reasoned, the time for inaction had gone. If he wanted to get out of this thing, then a risk it would have to be.
Rider told a good story. It covered his early years and association with Conroy and Munrow which blossomed in the late 1970s, early 1980s, based on drugs and guns. By 1982 they had a big, lucrative empire which was growing in all directions, legit and otherwise. But when the gangland territorial wars started, catching the attention of the forces of law and order, the empire began to crumble.
Rider left.
Munrow got busted.
And Conroy saw it as an opportunity to expand even further, this time protected properly by his police and political friends who he had been nurturing and working alongside for years. Rider named names.
‘ I hadn’t seen Conroy for a good while,’ he explained, ‘though I kept tabs on what was happening. I never wanted to go back to that life, so Ronnie and his activities didn’t bother me one way or the other — until last weekend, when he contacted me and asked for a meet. He wanted to get a toehold into my club — for drugs, I thought. I told him to piss off.’
‘ He wanted to sell drugs through your place?’
‘ That’s what I thought originally… then I saw that thing about Dundaven in the paper the other day and put two and two together.’
‘ Whoa, hold on,’ said Henry. A light dawned. ‘You mean Conroy and Dundaven are connected?’
‘ Yes — I thought you’d know that.’
‘ Only sort of.’
‘ And instead of drugs, I think he wanted to store those weapons at the club, probably as far away from himself as possible.’