He snorted in derision. ‘Masks won’t matter if they see the end of that video, Brad.’
Brad cast his mind back, remembered, and said: ‘Shit. But you’re the damn murder squad leader, you could derail this whole thing.’
‘Bullshit, Brad, bullshit. I overlook things, I make a mistake, they pull me off the case and analyse every decision I’ve made. I’ve got to be careful. I can’t just lie down after the opening bell to throw this fight. I’ve got to smack my opponent around a bit, go the distance and win on points. I’ll deal with the CCTV, but I need to know if you’re certain you sterilised the fucking car properly.’
‘We’ll soon find out, I guess.’
* * *
On his way out, he kissed his dad’s cheek and said he had to rush.
‘Go make the world a safe place, Mick.’
As Mick walked past wheelchair John, he pointed two fingers at his own eyes, then the guy’s glasses, and told him they were a fine pair of spectacles. Quietly, of course, so his watching Dad didn’t hear.
Fifty-Six
Karl
Just 1,500 feet east of Karl’s home, they parked under a railway bridge near Bow Common Gasworks. Four mechanics in overalls stained with petrol and oil were risking their lives smoking outside the gates of an auto garage on the far side, and other pedestrians were around, but nobody paid them any heed. They could see ahead and behind 500 feet, so would have ample warning if the red BMW found them. Karl called home on the phone he’d found in Anderson’s van, but got no answer. Liz waited patiently. If it could be called waiting: since their near-miss back at Karl’s street, Liz had been distant, deep in thought. Twiddling her hair, scratching at her knees, staring into space.
When he hung up with no joy from Katie’s mobile, either, Liz said: ‘She’ll be with the cops, so don’t worry. If they’re going to bring her to the meeting, she’ll be in a police station, being questioned, while next door a team of big men prepare for you with a big fishing net.’
He glared at her. The sort of joke he might have made, but it pissed him off to be on the receiving end. At least her spirits had been revived – for the last few minutes he’d felt alone, and hadn’t enjoyed it.
‘Then we’ve got no other choice,’ he said. ‘We have to meet that detective. I’ll see Katie that way.’
‘Not we,’ Liz said. ‘I have to do this another way.’
‘What way?’
‘Ron never trusted the police. There were police on his payroll, and no doubt some of his enemies will have police on theirs. I can’t take that risk.’
‘That’s daft. This detective isn’t one of the enemy.’
‘I don’t doubt it. But I’m not just going to hand myself over all alone.’
‘So what can you do?’ He couldn’t hide the anxiety in his voice. He didn’t want her to leave him. Not now, during the endgame.
‘Use our solicitor. Bartholomew Gold. He’s a good man. He’ll know how to help us. All of us.’
If he had a client like Ronald Grafton, Karl doubted he was a good man. He didn’t say as much, though.
‘You should come with me,’ she continued. ‘I don’t like why this detective wants to meet you outside, away from a police station. And don’t say it’s so he can take your statement without people around making noise. That’s the daft part. He’ll want to trick you into saying something incriminating without legal representation.’
Karl had already considered this. But he could watch what he said. What he couldn’t do was guarantee that he’d get to see Katie and their unborn child any time soon if he just walked into a cop shop and put his hands up. He told Liz as much. She shrugged in response.
‘So what will you do?’ he asked.
‘I’m going to my friend Danny’s house. He’ll help me. He’ll take me to see Mr Gold. I’ll walk into a police station with the finest defence lawyer in the country.’
‘You’ll need a defence lawyer, will you?’
‘We both will. We have no idea what’s going on. They might think I’m a suspect. And you have no proof that you didn’t kill that man in the shop. I’ll offer again that you stay with me.’
In answer, he opened his door to get out. But she stopped him.
‘You take the van because you’re going to be all alone and will need it. I’ll keep the phone. Danny will pick me up.’
She got out, and he let her. She shut her door. Turned away, but didn’t move. He dropped the passenger window.
‘Have a good life, Liz Grafton.’
She turned back. ‘Be careful.’
‘Never been my thing, as your presence in my life proves.’
He got a smile from her in return. He decided to leave it at that. A nice final image. A genuine smile, which meant he must have done some good in her life. He turned the van onto the road, and drove past her.
In the mirror, he saw that she was watching him leave.
Strangely, he hoped he hadn’t seen the last of Liz Smith.
Fifty-Seven
Mick
‘I’m busy now, call you later.’
Cooper was also on his mobile. He looked up and said: ‘The old guy is coming down.’
Mick replied: ‘Why? I don’t want him here.’
‘He only wants to speak to the head detective. Won’t give up the tape otherwise. He’s coming down now with the constable.’
‘What took so long?’
Cooper asked the question, then said: ‘The old guy insisted that the constable watched the CCTV first.’
‘Why?’ Mick asked, concerned.
‘He wanted to give some commentary. The chap wants to be involved.’
If a cop had seen the video, he might recognise him, and that just wouldn’t do. Shit. Thinking quick, he said: ‘I don’t want the constable here. Just members of the investigation team. He can be of better use elsewhere.’ Cooper got on it.
They were standing outside a lock-up garage on a patch of grassland backdropped by a playing field, about 160 feet from the main road. Behind them, 100 feet away, were the rear ends of a row of houses, each garden with high hedges that blocked their view of the upstairs windows. And thus any view of the garages. Exactly the reason he had chosen the place. Yet here they fucking were. It clearly hadn’t been enough.
Mick and Cooper were watching the SOCO team milling around the Volvo in the second garage. The warped garage door was up only halfway, as far as the busted contraption would go. Today these guys wore respirators and face shields because they were dealing with a vicious chemical that Dave and Brad had used to sterilise the crime scene.
DC Gondal arrived and was let through the cordon. He almost jogged to his colleagues, which Mick didn’t like. His fear that Gondal had news was right on the money.
‘I got a couple of neat things on Brad Smithfield,’ Gondal said with a grin. ‘That Scottish henchman called Rocker, the murder you investigated? Not the only killing Smithfield’s name has been tied to. There’s another low life with a daft nickname. Robert Dunham, called himself Rapid. Drug dealer specialising in Buzz who got himself whacked in the proverbial dark alley one night just a week after the Rocker fiasco.’
He waited for a response. Mick, feeling the panic rise, could only think of: ‘Drug dealers get targeted all the time. Lucrative fodder for underworld taxmen and vigilantes. Give me more.’
‘His alibi was perfect: being interviewed by police about the Rocker killing. But shit sticks. Doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved. And this guy, Rapid, had been known to deal out of Grafton’s nightclub.’
‘So?’
‘So twice, in two different murders and the nightclub robbery, the name Brad Smithfield has appeared as a person of interest. The sweetness is the way it all links to Ronald Grafton.’