Now the vet peered past the accompanying uniform as if fearful they’d called his brief anyway. When he caught sight of O’Neill and Dempsey sitting waiting for him, his relief was obvious.
O’Neill let Dempsey go through the introductions and formalities, leaving him to observe the shaky hands and bloodshot eyes on the other side of the table. He knew at once what lay behind them.
“Like something to drink Mr Stubbs?” O’Neill offered, and noted the man’s twitch of confirmation. “Tea or coffee perhaps?” he went on blandly. “I believe the machine here even makes a creditable stab at hot chocolate, if that’s your poison?”
Stubbs let his head hang, shook it once. “No—thank you,” he mumbled. A residue of good manners.
“All right,” Dempsey said bright and brisk. “I understand you have some information that may be relevant to our current enquiries, sir?”
It took Stubbs a moment to gather himself. He took a deep breath that appeared to reinflate his sense of self-importance.
“I need some assurances,” he said. “A deal—freedom from prosecution.”
Dempsey glanced at O’Neill. “Sir, we can’t make those kinds of promises without knowing how you’re involved in, whatever it is—”
“Involved?” Stubbs seemed outraged. “Of course I’m not involved. I barely know the man.”
O’Neill sighed. “So what exactly are you hoping for immunity from?”
Stubbs cleared his throat. “The, erm, unfortunate incident this afternoon,” he said rubbing a hand around his neck as if hoping to massage away the flush that was rapidly forming. “With my car.”
“Want us to fix any parking tickets or speeding fines while we’re at it?” O’Neill asked with deceptive mildness.
“You can do that?”
O’Neill cursed inside his head, exchanged a fleeting look with Dempsey that told him his DC was thinking along much the same lines.
Waster.
“Mr Stubbs. You knocked down a little old lady in broad daylight with almost three times the legal limit of alcohol in your bloodstream,” O’Neill said pushing his chair back and getting to his feet. “We could practically bottle the sample you gave us.”
Dempsey followed his lead and rose also, but before the two of them could step away from the table Stubbs blurted out, “Explosives!”
Both detectives froze.
If Stubbs had been asked to pick one word in these terrorism-heightened times guaranteed to grab a copper’s attention, O’Neill considered that was probably pretty much at the top of the list.
“What kind, what quantity, and where?” he rapped out.
Stubbs floundered for a moment, drew himself together. “And what about my deal?”
O’Neill leaned into him across the table, resting on his knuckles and jamming his face up close. “Mr Stubbs, I am half a beat away from arresting you under the Prevention of Terrorism Act unless you tell me what you know. Right now.”
Stubbs flinched back from the controlled venom, his darting eyes searching for an escape route.
His gaze fixed on Dempsey who did not provide one. “This is not just about losing your licence anymore, sir,” he said. “This is serious jail time.”
“All right, all right,” Stubbs muttered, scowling. “Here I am, trying to do my bit and what do I get but—”
O’Neill straightened to his full height slowly enough for it to be a threat, let his voice simmer. “What kind of explosives, Mr Stubbs?”
“I don’t know—I’m hardly an expert am I?”
“So how do you know about any of this?”
Stubbs hesitated. “Look, I happen to, erm . . . know a chap who does a bit of demolition—blows up tree stumps, that kind of thing. All perfectly legal of course. So when another chap asked me if I knew where he could get hold of some explosives I simply . . . made the introductions that’s all.” He tried an ingratiating smile.
“Who was buying and who was selling?”
“I’d really rather not name the seller if you don’t mind. It’s not really relevant anyway is it?”
O’Neill dredged through the facts of the report he’d read before they set out. “Probably not,” he said mildly. “I seem to remember that you have a brother who does a bit of land clearance though, don’t you? Maybe we ought to have a little chat with him.”
He could tell by the way Stubbs sagged that he’d guessed correctly. “And the buyer?” he nudged.
“Look, this could put me in a very awkward position—”
“You’re not a stupid man Mr Stubbs,” O’Neill cut in, a trace of doubt in his voice. “You must have known you were going to have to tell us the details.”
He saw the indecision. Stubbs had not thought any of this out, he realised and was just lurching from one crisis to the next. O’Neill’s object was to keep him teetering until he fell just the way they wanted him.
“You’re only doing your duty, sir,” Dempsey added. “I’m sure it will look good to the judge when your driving offence comes to court.”
“Harry Grogan,” Stubbs mumbled. Dempsey met O’Neill’s look and raised his eyebrows. O’Neill shrugged in reply. Stubbs, with his gaze averted, missed the exchange.
“Why would a respectable businessman like Harry Grogan want explosives?”
“The man’s a crook—a gangster!” Stubbs protested.
O’Neill shook his head. “Not in the eyes of the law he’s not. Clean as a whistle. Of course if we had a witness who would testify to his personally obtaining explosives that might all change.”
“Ah well, it wasn’t Grogan himself you understand. A man like him doesn’t get his hands dirty does he? I mean—”
“Who was it then sir?”
“One of Harry Grogan’s bodyguards—Russian chap called Dmitry although strictly speaking I believe he’s perhaps Ukrainian. Nasty piece of work either way,” Stubbs said. “Dmitry is usually the one who relays Mr Grogan’s orders or instructions. Turns up at my house, lets himself in like he owns the place!” He throttled back his indignation. “I assumed this time was no different.”
O’Neill felt Dempsey glance at him again but refused to let Stubbs know the importance of what he’d just said. “Dmitry have a last name?”
The vet shrugged. “Something totally unpronounceable. They all are in that part of the world aren’t they?”
“I don’t suppose this Dmitry mentioned what his boss wanted the explosives for by any chance?”
Stubbs shook his head. “I didn’t ask. I’ve worked for Harry Grogan for long enough to know one doesn’t question his orders.” He gave a weary smile, more genuine this time. “If I’d done so this afternoon—refused to turn out to see his damned precious colt before the big race tomorrow—I wouldn’t be in my current predicament.”