Chapter 20
The grass was wet with dew and a light mist clung doggedly to the canal. The sky pledged another beautiful day.
“Alright Boss. Good do last night?”
“Sammy.” Thurstan nodded. “It was ok. I learnt a lot. Apparently, the job’s fucked.”
“Standard retirement do then.” The DS laughed.
Under the bridge, hands in pockets, they stared up at the body hanging from the ironwork, its lifeless feet dangling three metres above the water.
“Hmmm. Call me cynical but I shouldn’t think he’s done this all by himself. How on earth did he get there?” He leaned forward and peered at the body, his hand shading his eyes. “There’s no way he climbed up there along the bridge supports. Too much barbed wire.”
Sammy grinned. “Exactly, Boss.”
“Who rang it in?”
“Jogger. Area are taking a statement from him now, in the van. It was reported as a suicide but the first bobby here saw the mud and grass on the back of his shoes and called it in as suspicious. The drag marks are over there where the CSI is now. They’re incomplete and start halfway down the slope so they probably slipped and dropped him. Looks to me like he was possibly dead or unconscious already. Anyway, the night jack took one look and here we are.”
“Wonderful. How the hell are we going to get him down?” He rubbed his chin and sighed. “We could try Fire and Rescue but the access is rubbish so it would involve a lot of arsing about and then there’s the evidence issue.”
He turned and put his hand on Sammy’s shoulder. “Contact the control room and have them dig out the on-call Matrix Inspector. I’m going to need a search team anyway so they might as well get me a rope access team to clamber across this lot to get him down.”
“I’d best go up top and borrow a radio, Boss.” He waved his own around, casually. “I think this needs charging.” As he walked away, Thurstan called after him: “Oh, and get the underwater search chaps out and tell them to bring their rubber dinghy thing as well. We need something to put him in when he’s down.”
He gazed at the body then said quietly: “Or we might have to commandeer a barge from somewhere.” A look up and down the canal. The light bulb in his head flickered then glowed. “A barge? That’s it! A bloody barge!”
He took his mobile out. ”Sammy. Get Air Support as well. I need them to fly along the canal and photograph everything on it.”
It was late and Thurstan sat back in his chair in the mobile command vehicle on the bridge. Maps of Merseyside and West Lancashire adorned the walls, the Leeds and Liverpool canal and its branches traced in blue felt tip. Mobile lighting lit the tow path beneath them. “Right. What have we got so far?”
Degsy placed the flimsy plastic cup holding his tea on the table then quickly thumbed through the papers on his knee. “Our victim is Stanley John Brannan, forty-five years old, wife and two kids, lived in West Kirby. Ostensibly, standard middle class, happily married and an accountant with a small and varied client base. The reality, however, seems somewhat different. Intel checks show an association with Mickey Fenton.” Thurstan raised an eyebrow. Degsy continued: “Exactly. Fenton doesn’t appear in Brannan’s client list but it would seem he’s been working with him for some time now. Even better, recent surveillance on Fenton included his wife, Sharon, and she was seen, several times, in out of the way spots with our Stanley. They weren’t discussing business. Apparently, not much discussion went on at all.”
“Interesting.” Thurstan sipped his coffee. “Let’s get the financial investigation people to have a close look at Brannan, Derek.” Another sip. “Sammy? What have you got to tell me?”
The DS leaned forward. “Well, we’ve downloaded the photos the helicopter took along the canal and we’ve got teams working from Lathom and Liverpool; they should meet in the middle. Air Support have been doing flyovers to co-ordinate and provide extra control and there’s a mobile crew to catch any movers. Same again tomorrow.”
Degsy took a mouthful of tea from the plastic cup and winced. “What about the branch line up to Tarleton?”
“Lancs County are doing that. According to the pictures, there’s not that many barges up along the canal, but there’s a shed full at the wharf in Rufford.” Sammy finished his tea and turned to an officer who was walking by carrying a large aluminium teapot. “Any chance of a top up?”
Degsy waved the Officer away with an apologetic smile. “How long are we going to be able to keep this running?”
The DCI frowned. “The Chief’s worried about the overtones. Roberto Calvi, Blackfriars Bridge and all that. I doubt it’s quite the same thing but he doesn’t want the locals getting ideas of grandeur, thinking they’re the Mafia.
“Anyway, he did a deal. We get to do the enquiries on the main canal in Lancashire but pay for their officers doing the Tarleton branch line. He wants us to bottom this in three days.” Degsy expelled breath from the corner of his mouth and shook his head in disbelief.
“I know. It’s definitely a challenge,” Thurstan continued with a little laugh. “So, full criminal records and intel checks on everyone. In particular, we’re looking for anyone with connections to Fenton or his associates.”