The traffic had built up considerably by the time Henry got to the M6, but even so he was driving into the back yard at Ormskirk police station about forty minutes later. He called Rik Dean on the radio and he came down to let Henry into the police station, which had not opened for public business yet. Dean looked as tired as Henry felt.
‘Any problems?’
‘No,’ said Dean.
Henry held his tongue, wanting to make a quip about Dean and Burrows because he was still very annoyed about it. Instead he said, ‘Is the witness okay?’
‘Yes.’
They went up to the first floor and found Jane and Jack Burrows eating toast and drinking coffee in the dining room. Jane had obviously showered and was in her change of clothing. She looked fresh and beautiful and Henry’s insides did a quick whirl, making him think, ‘If she does this to me every time I see her, should I really be dumping her?’ He was getting confused again. He shelved his feelings and turned his attention to Jack Burrows. She needed a shower and a change of clothing, but that could not detract from the fact that she looked as stunning as ever. On one level Henry could not blame Dean for his indiscretion, but on another, a professional one, he condemned the guy totally.
‘Morning, ladies,’ Henry said.
He got a grunt from both of them.
‘A word, Jane.’ He tipped his head to indicate she should follow him out on to the landing. ‘How has it gone?’ he asked quietly.
‘Good. We talked until about five thirty, then decided to get some shut-eye.’
‘Did you record your conversation?’
‘Yeah, if the tape recorder’s working.’
‘Interesting?’
‘Very, very, very interesting.’
‘Gimme a flavour,’ Henry said enthusiastically.
‘Let me make you a brew first. You look like you need some sustenance. It’s a long story.’
Ormskirk police station is situated on a main road leading into the town on a corner plot just outside the shopping centre by a set of traffic lights. It is a relatively new building, constructed in the 1980s. It has a cell complex, a few offices and a first-floor hostel. Apart from the hostel, the police station is very underused. Spiralling policing costs mean that the station is open to the public for a restricted number of hours only and that all but very short-term prisoners are taken to the cells down the road in Skelmersdale. It has a large enclosed car park at the rear, with only one way in and one way out.
This meant that, whatever happened, Henry Christie could only drive out in one direction and if he had his protected witness with him, they would be an easy target.
Miller smirked. Trapped like rats, he thought, as he surveyed the red-brick police station and its environs.
If she is in there, that is.
Henry and Jane sat in the lounge area while he ate some toast and drank the tea she had made for him. It was too busy to talk confidentially because of the number of sleepy hostel residents wandering in and out in various stages of undress. Henry wondered if he had missed something by never living in a police hostel in his younger, single days. The lifestyle had some appeal to it.
‘Let’s go to the room I slept in,’ Jane suggested when Henry had finished his toast. ‘Better to talk,’ she added. Each with a drink in hand they went into her room. The bed was made, there was no mess; her clothes from yesterday were hung up neatly on a hanger. Henry could smell that she had been there. Her aroma made him slightly dizzy as he sat on the edge of the bed.
Jane sat at the desk, keeping some distance between them, and placed Donaldson’s hand-held tape recorder on it.
‘Summary,’ Henry said. ‘Detail later.’
‘Okay. . Jack Burrows is the only daughter of the well-known transport boss and haulier, Bill Burrows, who has depots all over England and the continent. She had an undertaker’s business which she sold and went into property. I think you know some of this?’
Henry nodded. ‘But go on, it’s worth hearing again.’
‘By her account, she was always a bit of a wild child and when she met Ray Cragg, his lifestyle appealed to her for some unknown reason. Money. Excitement. All that sort of stuff, I suppose,’ said Jane dismissively. ‘Anyway, she got in with him and they became an item, but all he was doing was using her as an accessory, she says. Bit of posh totty. He didn’t really care about her, treated her like shit. Anyway, because of this she falls for the delectable Marty, Ray’s younger, stupider, half-brother, who, totally out of character, treats her like a lady.’
‘First time for everything,’ Henry commented.
‘Unless he was using her as well,’ said Roscoe. ‘It seems Marty was always trying to emulate and better Ray, but never quite succeeded. He was never quite as tough, never quite as hard, never quite as successful. He got bitter and twisted and decided to screw Ray as much as possible, including screwing his girlfriend, which is why he treated her well, I think, because Ray didn’t. There may be another reason why Marty treated her so well, too.’
‘Let me guess,’ interjected Henry. ‘The transport business.’
‘How did you know?’
‘Just brilliant, I suppose.’ He licked a finger and marked the air.
‘Apparently Ray does a lot of pimping, controls a lot of prostitutes. He saw the potential for bringing asylum-seeking girls in from Eastern Europe. He made contacts with some gangs on the Continent, but never quite pulled anything substantial off, though he had plans to expand in that direction. During this time, Marty met a guy called Mendoza who headed a Spanish gang which specializes in providing girls for prostitution to UK criminals. Marty decided to go into business with them without telling Ray. At the same time he proposed to bring in loads of paying asylum seekers by using Burrows Transport.’
‘How?’
‘Jack is well in with a number of bent drivers.’
‘Thought as much. So he’s been importing people in general and prostitutes in particular? The people get dumped and the hookers end up working in grotty flats — am I on the right track?’
‘More or less, except that Marty being Marty, nothing was quite so easy. He needed a lot of start-up money, apparently, which he didn’t have, so he took out loans from the Spaniards. Trouble was, Marty was terrible with money. He couldn’t add up, but he managed to subtract a lot into his own wallet and lost a lot through gambling: horses, casinos, the lot. The loan repayments kept being extended until such time as they were called in and Marty found himself repaying to a deadline, which he could not meet. In a panic, Marty skimmed from Ray, but could not accumulate enough and blamed others?’
‘Such as JJ?’
‘Yes. Then he had the big idea to get all the money together in one fell swoop.’
Henry was puzzled.
‘Apparently Ray counts his weekly takings in a little terraced house in Rawtenstall. Marty simply arranged to rob him. Hired four dimbos from Manchester to do the business, but Marty being Marty, it all went wrong. Two of them got whacked, two got away and one of Ray’s trusted men got greedy and did a runner with all the takings in the confusion. About two-fifty, two-eighty grand, supposedly.’
Henry whistled. ‘Marty gets left with nothing other than debt and gets executed by a very pissed-off bullfighter. Things are slotting into place now. So Ray doesn’t show any feelings about Marty’s death, he accuses Jack of sleeping with him and beats her up, so Jack is really pissed off with him and decides to drop him in it.’
‘The money is still on the run and Ray wants it back because it’s his and because — and get this for a kind of rough justice — the Spaniard has threatened Ray and told him he now carries the debt incurred by his brother.’