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It’d been a busy day. Routine admin, post-yearly reports, files checked, cases finalised; the South Road, Grassendale job had been sent to the Coroner and the Albanian Police had finally managed to confirm the Agani brothers identities through a family DNA match.
Despite being at the centre of an internet paedophile ring ‘dead computer guy’ would be remembered fondly by friends and family as an outstanding member of some sort of Lodge somewhere, a loving father and a fine husband, for the time being at least.
The Agani’s little empire had fallen and their DNA connected them directly to Lina Bartkutė’s death. Her family, believing the Liverpool Police had dispensed instant justice, were partially consoled by the result, but nothing would ever bring their beautiful Lina back to them.
Signature scribbled in the book, he quietly left the building and negotiated his way across the bus station. He’d get a taxi home later, he had to spend his money somehow. But for now, he was heading to the nearest bar.
Settled in a quiet seat with a table, he took in the view and sipped his Guinness. He felt the shadow and presence but before he could react Nicks had sat down.
“Have you been following me?” he asked with a frown.
“Of course, how else would I know you were here?” Nicks grinned and swallowed a mouthful of beer.
“What do you want?
Nicks wiped his mouth. “I need a favour, a big favour. You’re not going to like it but hear me out.”
The DCI simply shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
“I need you to help me trace someone I only know as ‘Nomad’. They, most probably, work for a company with extensive coverage in the Northwest. A salesman maybe or they’re connected to a haulage company of some sort, with similar coverage.”
“Why?”
“Well, because they, and possibly a helper or two, are directly responsible for Don’s death.”
Thurstan gulped down several mouthfuls then placed the glass back on the table. “You don’t ask for much, do you? I suppose you think I’m going to misuse the Force systems to try and find your needle in a haystack and then be surprised when the job sacks me!” His voice rose ever so slightly as he finished the sentence.
“Well, I think if I slip something through Crime Stoppers, the same information, then it’ll give you the reasons you need to go sniffing around. Unfortunately, it’s the best I can do but I reckon it’ll be enough. I know the dangers it contains but I’ve got nowhere else to go and I’ve only got a few more days left.”
“Why? What happens in a few days?”
Nicks felt he owed the DCI this much, so he sat and explained everything and, at the end, Thurstan just bowed his head and repeatedly rubbed his hand through his hair.
“What do I get out of it?” he asked finally.
Nicks gave him a grin. “Well, here’s the thing. Hopefully, I’ll be able to give you a name, or perhaps it might be a body, then you can, with one hundred per cent certainty, shove it on your file as being the murderer and you’ve got a result.”
“It’ll be a body, won’t it?”
“It’s not certain. Maybe.”
They both sat back and finished their drinks in silence.
Nicks stood up. “Another?” Thurstan handed him his glass.
On his return, the DCI sat and watched him sort the notes in his wallet: Queen’s head forward, numerical order.
Done, Nicks straightened the beer mats and said, “So, you’re on board?”
The DCI couldn’t restrain a little snort of laughter. “I suppose I have a choice but it’s not much of one, is it?” He paused. “No bodies though.”
Nicks shrugged. “I’ll do my best.” He placed the glass down and wiped the froth from his mouth.
Thurstan eyed him over his pint. “What brought you to this?” He saw the question in Nicks’ eyes and leant forward, lowering his voice. “What was it that made you decide to ... well, kill people?”
Nicks straightened his beer mat. “They’re not nice people. They don’t count.”
“Everyone counts.”
“No, Thurstan, they don’t. They’d have you away in the blink of an eye if it served their purpose. Anyway, if you lot did a better job I’d probably be redundant.”
Thurstan shook his head. “That’s unfair. You know damn well the constraints we work under.”
Nicks chuckled. “Yeah, it was a low baller. What do you want? Should I start popping off lawyers?”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“I was approached.” He sipped his Guinness. “Seems they’d been watching me for a while. A system of ‘talent spotters’ who for all I know are still out there. They could be watching you. Then there’s the recruiter. They catch you at the right moment. Mine was whilst I was trying to drink myself to death after my wife died. I didn’t have enough courage to top myself but it was taking too long.”
“So why did you go along with it?”
He leant forward. “You want to know the truth? Anger, shame and hope. Anger there were arseholes walking around when she no longer was and shame because I couldn’t save her.” His voice was breaking and the DCI could see the moisture in his eyes.
Nicks quickly sat back and grabbed his glass. Drinking from it covered his emotion and embarrassment. He placed the empty glass on the table, recomposed. “Hope? I simply hoped that someone might just have the balls to come back at me and put me out of my misery.”
He stood up. “Another? I know you can. It’ll be a taxi for you later on. I can’t see you messing around on the train on a crappy night like tonight.”
When he returned, he set two halves and some single malt Bushmills on the beer mats and sat down. They raised their whiskeys in respectful salute.
“Has it changed now? Why do you still do it?”
A little smile briefly played across Nicks’ face. “Well, the hope has changed. I hope one day they’ll leave me alone. Let me quietly retire to my little hill with Anca. Thing is, I tried but it didn’t work last time. I was a bit naive, if you can believe such a thing.”
He downed his whiskey then, glancing around the room, he relaxed, picked up the half-pint and leant closer. “I’ve found someone to care about again. Somebody I can love and who loves me,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to spook you but it was as if some force brought us together, for a purpose.” He hesitated. “I can’t explain it better.” A mouthful of beer and he changed the subject. “What about you, when you finish the ‘job’?”
Thurstan emptied his glass. “To be perfectly honest? I’d like to be married. I’ve spent too long on my own. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had other girlfriends but none of them seemed the right one. I certainly wasn’t the right one for them. But Lizzie’s different. I’d even like kids.” He pointed to Nicks’ empty glasses. “Same again?”
He shook his head. “I’ll get these.”
“It’s my round.” Thurstan protested.
Nicks smiled at him. “If I let you go to the bar I don’t know exactly where you are and what you’re doing. You could be phoning all sorts of people. At least I can keep an eye on you from up there.”
They supped the next round whilst talking about their musical preferences. Thurstan was a man of the 80s: Tears for Fears, Prefab Sprout, Deacon Blue and the Pretenders. Nicks had broadly the same taste but had moved on to more recent bands: the Dykeenies, All the Young, Sound of Guns, Fly with Vampires and Circa Waves. Both found they were big fans of Thin Lizzy.
Eventually, Thurstan got up and declared, “I have to go to the toilet. Are you going to insist on coming with me?”
A mellowed Nicks laughed and raised his hand. “No, no. Let’s not go too far.” He watched Thurstan disappear, through the thinning crowd, in the right direction.
He quickly downed his drink then handed the barmaid £20. “A pint of un-chilled Guinness, a Bushmills single malt and a packet of dry roasted peanuts. Can you put them on that table over there, please, and keep the change.”
He glanced back towards their seats and then the toilets, zipped his jacket, turned and left.