Chapter 45
Sandfield Park, Liverpool: 0030 hours.
The dark grey, unmarked, VW Golf snuggled, lights off, beneath the huge canopy of an oak tree; half on the pavement, half off.
In the dark interior, two figures, the driver sitting upright, the passenger reclined, the back seat covered with screwed up paper bags, used disposable cups and several empty pizza boxes.
“I’m telling you, mate. They want to get rid of him, sharpish,” the passenger said in a low voice. “He’s too slow. Well past his prime. As for the goalie. What does he do? Rub butter on his gloves before every match?”
His partner leaned forward, forearms on the steering wheel and stared out at the street. He replied quietly, “I think you’re being a bit harsh there. Don’t forget he had that injury early last year. Did well to get back in the team so soon. But you’re right. We should bring someone else in for this year. And yeah, we need another goalie, he’s rubbish.”
The passenger closed his eyes: “You need another team, mate. How much are you paying that bloke who spends most of his time sitting in the box with his hands in the air? Thirty grand a week? Outrageous. If that had been me I’d have locked myself up. My lot’s not that much better. It’s why I stopped going.”
“I don’t think the club will have noticed.” The driver smirked.
“No, you’re right. My bloody bank manager did though.”
A kilometre away from the DSU vehicle another unmarked Golf. Inside, the occupants sat, slowly eating kebabs.
“Have you got the tahini?”
“Yeah, here you are, Trig.” Soapy passed him the carton. “Do you want my chillies? Too bloody hot for me.”
Outside Fenton’s, forty metres from his gate, the Foetus lay in the driver’s seat asleep. Next to him, Gandalph drummed his fingers almost silently on his knee, periodically checking his watch.
In a nearby street, a car, no lights. Two figures in camouflage fatigues crept out, silently closing the doors. Carrying small backpacks, they cautiously clambered over low spiked railings sat atop a small stone wall. The car gently moved off, side lights coming on when it had cleared the shallow bend. On the field, two shadows began to pick their way carefully along the tree line towards Mickey’s house.
Mike Patterson sat in the dingy little office in Eaton Road police station, promotion book in hand. “Right, is the answer A. Theft and Burglary? B. Theft, Burglary and Criminal Damage? C. Burglary with Intent, Theft and Criminal Damage or D. Burglary and Criminal Damage?”
Margie looked back at him, finger against the earpiece clipped around her ear. “Sorry, Mike. You’ll have to give me that again. I was listening to the radio. CROPS are on plot and the others have been told to come back in for stand down. There’s just Soapy and Trigger out there now.”
Sandfield Park, Liverpool: 0330 hours.
He sighed, shook his head and tutted. “What’s his name?”
“Which one?” Trigger yawned and looked at him blankly.
“The main detective in Wallander.” Soapy rested his head on the steering wheel.
“Kurt.”
“Nah, not the character. The actor.”
Trig thought for a while. “Kenneth Branagh!”
“No, not him. He’s in the English version. I mean the bloke in the Swedish original. Brilliant series.”
“I’ll tell you what would make a brilliant series. Have you read The Cuckoo’s Calling?”
Soapy looked at him. “Course I have. I lent it to you.”
Trigger chuckled. “Oh, yeah. Good book. I’ll give it you back next week, if I remember. I like the characters. The Boss was in that mob wasn’t he?”
Soapy unwrapped a boiled sweet then offered one to Trigger. “The SIB. Yeah, I think he was.”
Suddenly, he picked up his radio. “Soapy ... any Charlie Romeo listening? What’s the name of the Swedish actor in Wallander?”
A whispered reply. “Charlie Romeo Two ... wait out.” The seconds ticked by then ticked some more.
“Charlie Romeo One ... Soapy.” Another whisper.
“Go ‘ead.”
“Krister Henriksson.”
“Say again?”
“Krister Henriksson.”
“Thanks ... anything happening?”
“Negative.”
Soapy savoured his boiled sweet. Trigger leaned against the door and closed his eyes: “Just give me ten minutes?”
“You can have twenty,” Soapy replied.