‘ Will do.’ He made his way back up the rickety wooden staircase to the office. It creaked under his weight.
Danny mulled over what she had got so far; pretty soon she would have to be briefing senior officers.
Three bodies in a vehicle inspection pit. All naked, with apparent gunshot wounds to the head. Two of the deceased known to Danny. Local thieves and druggies, and Cheryl a failed drug importer. The third body was that of an unidentified male, maybe late forties.
Danny already knew of a good reason for the deaths of Cheryl and Spencer: ruthless drug dealers who did not take kindly to the loss of about fifty grand’s worth of junk. Danny would be very surprised if the killing turned out to be for anything other than that. That, therefore, would definitely be one avenue for the investigation. Another would be identifying the other man; once that was done, other ways forward might spring up.
The other line of enquiry would be through the owner of the garage. Who is he? What’s his background? Who are his associates? Digging into his ribs could prove extremely profitable indeed.
Then there was the scientific evidence, not forgetting that Cheryl’s flat would need to be thoroughly examined by Search and Forensic teams now.
The office door opened at the top of the stairs, and Seymour led out a man with thick, straggly, oily hair, shoulder-length, wearing a pair of dirty overalls. Peter Maynard. He was about to begin helping the police with their enquiries. He looked exactly as Danny had expected.
Seymour led him out of the garage without a word.
Danny walked to the edge of the inspection pit once more and looked down at the three bodies lying one on top of the other. She was reminded of a Nazi war grave.
It made her realise just how dangerous the people behind this were.
Chapter Nine
At noon on Monday, the third day of his ‘holiday’, Colin Hodge awoke with the most terrifying hangover of his life, brought on by over-indulgence on San Miguel beer and cheap whisky. The bedroom of the apartment was in darkness, with the exception of slits of light filtering in through the cracks and between the curtains. The room was very untidy now. Clothes, plates and beer bottles were strewn around. Hodge slowly eased himself into a sitting position, desperate not to dislodge the ball bearings which seemed to be rolling around at the back of his eyes.
He breathed deeply and was nearly sick there and then, but he kept hold of it. The woman next to him in the bed groaned in her sleep. Hodge squinted at her. She was past her prime and not exactly on the petite side, but the previous night had verged on the incredible. Hodge touched his cock, which felt tender. It had been well abused.
He swung his legs out of the low bed, placing his feet on the cold floor tiles.
He could tell it was another hot day in Tenerife. So far over the weekend he had not seen much of the daytime, but was determined that he would get some sunbathing done today. Pointless to be here on a freebie and not get the benefit of the sun’s harmful rays. He stumbled out of the bedroom and tottered into the bathroom where he had a long shower. He wondered when they would come for him. Apart from anything else he was running low on his cash reserves. He needed a peseta injection.
As he stooped to soap down his legs, the shower curtain drew back. The woman had woken. She stepped in to join him.
Hodge was correct: it was hot in Tenerife. Baking hot at Reina Sofia Airport where Billy Crane waited impatiently for the passengers to filter out from the recently arrived flight from Manchester.
Don Smith was first one through, carrying only an overnight bag and a briefcase.
They shook hands and left the terminal building, climbing into the rear seats of a Ssang Yong four-wheel-drive monstrosity waiting for them. It was driven by Loz, Crane’s business partner and lion hors d’ oeuvre. His injured left hand was strapped up in a dirty-looking bandage and was resting. between his thighs. The vehicle was an automatic with power steering and he was able to drive safely enough with just his right hand. When the two passengers were settled into the back seat, Loz pulled away.
‘ Good flight?’
‘ Cramped as fuck,’ Smith complained. He rolled his neck, which creaked. He had managed to squeeze in on a spare seat on a holiday charter flight. ‘My arse is still asleep.’
‘ Where are we up to with our friend?’
‘ Checked him out.’ Smith positioned his briefcase on his lap and snapped it open. He extracted a file of papers which he handed to Crane.
‘ Give me the gist,’ Crane said. He would read the file later.
Loz shifted slightly and cocked an ear rearwards.
‘ OK, the gist is that Colin Hodge is a bit of a sad bastard. He lives alone at an address in Bispham, north of Blackpool. Semi-detached house, forty grand mortgage, negative equity. Wife pissed off about two years ago, shacked up with some guy who guts chickens in a factory, which kind of indicates just how much of a boring twat Hodge is. Been working for the same security firm for eight years as a guard. Been robbed once — on a collection in Carlisle. Just dropped the money and shat himself, apparently. No bottle. Gets paid a pittance — something like five or six quid an hour; has to work all the hours God sends to pick up anything approaching a decent pay packet. Has a girlfriend… some slag who works behind the bar at his local club. Most of the adult male population of Bispham have been through her, apparently.’
‘ Why’s he gone bad?’
Smith shrugged. ‘I suppose carting millions around and getting paid fuck-all for it might have something to do with it. But I’d say the real reason is debt.’ Smith counted on the fingers of his right hand. ‘The mortgage, his car’s on HP, and last but not least, he owes money to a local bookie and to a loan shark, a guy with a very bad rep.’
‘ You know him?’
‘ Of him.’
Crane nodded. ‘Get him to back off.’
‘ Should I pay him off?’
‘ No, just get him to tread water with Hodge for a while.’
‘ Will do.’
‘ Are you sure Hodge isn’t a cop?’ Crane asked. He watched for Smith’s reaction.
Smith breathed in deeply, held it in while he considered the question, exhaled slowly. ‘How can I say for sure, Bill? I’ve had him well checked out by this private detective I told you about, and I reckon he’s done a pretty good job in such a short space of time. He’s still on it, by the way.
‘ Cops have good legends, I admit. A lot of time and effort goes into them, but I reckon Hodge is just an arsehole on the make, a greedy cunt. He’s seen an opportunity and is going for it.’ Smith looked out of the window. ‘Is he a cop, though?’ Then he sang, ‘How can I be sure, in a world that’s constantly changing?’ The old David Cassidy number.
It brought a smile to Crane’s face. ‘Yeah, right. OK then, what about this being a set-up? Is it some kind of elaborate plot to do us? He came to you and that worries me.’
‘ But only because Tony Roberts picked up on what Hodge was saying around the clubs. I’m the one who followed it up. He didn’t actually come to me.’
‘ Bluff, counter-bluff, falling into the trap,’ Crane offered sagely.
‘ Could be, Billy, could be, but I doubt it. My gut tells me that Colin Hodge is a genuine greedy, weak-kneed bastard who wants to escape from a squalid little shitty life, like a million other people. They just do the lottery instead.’
Crane watched the passing landscape for a while. He sniffed. ‘OK, let’s go with him — but keep our eyes and ears well pinned.’
A smile of satisfaction came to Smith’s face.
‘ Next question, Don: does he genuinely carry that amount of cash?’
‘ Haven’t been able to sort that one out yet, Bill. Working on it.’