and Thirty-Three
‘Right then, people.’ Arthur Hellmann was oblivious to most of what had been going on around him; that was his biggest failing as a human being, and his biggest asset as a computer whiz. ‘From what I can work out, the person you’re looking for is located within a one-quarter mile radius. He is in Essex, within two miles of Romford. The phone itself is registered to someone called Malcolm Briers, whose address, believe it or not, is within two miles of Romford. The address is White Farm on the Rainham Road. It was a clever fucking scam, I tell you. If I didn’t have access to every fucking mobile number on the planet, we would never have located the fucker. He was well hidden. And if he had not left his phone on, I would never have found the bastard.’
Michael was listening to the man with absolute amazement. After all this time, this fucking weirdo had actually managed to track the bastard down, when even the police couldn’t manage to do it. Michael was almost beside himself with euphoria – at last he had a fucking lead.
Arthur looked at the men around him warily. ‘Look, it doesn’t mean he’s there. It just means that is where it’s all registered. But the phone was used within that area recently.’
Michael hugged the man to him. ‘You fucking diamond! Whatever happens, mate, you get your wedge. At least you have given us a place to start. I could fucking kiss you!’
Declan was laughing now. He felt the same euphoria as Michael; this was a real fucking result.
Timothy Branch watched the two men as they bowled out of the room together. He felt he had failed; and of course he had – miserably. Turning to Arthur Hellmann, who was one weird-looking fucker, he said arrogantly, ‘What you just did is illegal, you do know that?’
Hellmann laughed in his face. He couldn’t give a toss what this man thought of him or his methods. If he worked within the law he would never have found out anything! No one would. Their hands were tied, Freedom of Information Acts, etc., etc. It was laughable. This was why he earned the big bucks – this man had to know that better than anybody.
Poking a finger into Branch’s face, he said sarcastically, ‘So fucking arrest me then! I dare you.’ Hellmann hoped that he was fifty grand up on this deal – that was the asking price for locating Michael Flynn’s daughter. He had followed the phone, followed the trail, he just hoped that he had done enough.
Chapter One Hundred
and Thirty-Four
Michael was buzzing as they drove out of East London – finally he was actually doing something constructive. It had been a long time coming; this mad fucker was so elusive, he was beginning to think he would never find him. It was the first time in his life that he had been unable to meet a problem head on. He had been at the top of his game for so long, it was unbelievable to think that anyone could have got the better of him. It galled him, it unnerved him, if he was honest.
‘I am going to kill this cunt with my bare hands, Declan. How dare he bring this to my door? Whatever might have happened in the past, his fucking beef was with me, not my family. I’m the one who fucked up.’ He laughed sarcastically. ‘Or, more to the point, Patrick was the one who fucked up. He knew what he was asking me to do. But what I can’t get my head round is that, of all the people I have taken out for whatever fucking reason, the only time it’s come back to bite me on the arse, is the one time I never intended to hurt a fucking soul. I would never have done that for anyone. Taking out women and children? That’s a fucking no-brainer. I would never have agreed to that.’
Declan sighed. He could understand Michael’s feelings. He kept his voice neutral as he said calmly, ‘It’s all relative. That’s in the past, Michael. All you can do now is sort out this shit as best you can.’
They were sitting in traffic at the Lodge Avenue roundabout in Barking. It was so frustrating. Michael was grasping the steering wheel with both hands, he was sweating all over, his fury and impatience intense now. He had no other choice – he had to sit there patiently until the traffic moved. There was nothing else he could do.
Declan could feel the man’s tension – it was understandable, but it was also threatening to get out of control. He lit them both cigarettes, and he passed one to Michael. Then they were on the move. Michael manoeuvred his Mercedes through the traffic skilfully and, as they edged towards Dagenham, he said with obvious relief, ‘Another five minutes in that traffic and I would have run fucking riot through Barking.’