 |
 |
Simon ambled out of Crosby library and back to the car park. Sliding into the rear passenger seat he said, “Sorted. A nice lady in there helped me print some stuff out. I thought the microfiche was our best bet.”
“What did you manage to turn up?” Nicks swivelled around to face him.
“Quite a lot, considering. Our Kenny told me what to look for, he does a bit of skip tracing on the side. Warren likes his social life and position in the community: Golf club, the Masons, the Lions and a couple of articles about the company. In one of them, he’s photographed next to a car, a Jag XF. I cross-referenced it with searches of the online newspaper and it’s red. Probably his but the numbers pixelated. So,” he handed over several sheets of A4. “There’s his happy little face and he lives in Alderley Edge. I did a voter check.”
Nicks grinned. “Great stuff, Si. Your Kenny’s a genius. I think we should head out to the company HQ. Anca’s already checked the route.”
She closed the lid of the laptop and handed it back to Simon.
As they pulled away, Nicks commented, “If we locate him there we can follow him and look for likely places to take him out sometime soon or maybe at least get a tracker on him.”
“What if he’s not there?” Anca tilted her head questioningly.
“Then one of us is going to have to give them a call, talk about a possible contract and find out when he’s likely to turn up.”
An uneventful journey, they glided into the lay-by and Nicks turned off the engine.
Simon tapped him on the shoulder. “There’s a red XF parked in front of the main building.”
Nicks nudged Anca. “Sweets, can you get those little binos out of the glove box, please?”
They didn’t have to wait too long before Nicks murmured. “I think that’s him. Take a look, Si”
He did. “Yep, deffo him and he’s getting into the car.”
They watched the Jaguar XF glide out and accelerate away.
Forty-five minutes later, they pulled into the car park of the Wizard Inn and parked at the furthest point from the Jag they possibly could.
Nicks was out and boot open, watching Warren leave the car and walk into the pub.
“Anca, come with me.” He handed Simon a mark 4 tracker. “Get that stuck on his motor, mate. I’ll give you a call when he’s suitably engaged. Call me back when you’re done.” He and Anca left for the main door.
In the bar, they sat with their drinks in a distant corner and watched Ed Warren sitting at the end of the counter, nursing a large scotch. Nicks took out his mobile and dialled the last number to call Frankie Ellis.
Ed sat gazing into his drink. He’d started off concerned, swiftly progressing through perturbed, worried and apprehensive to being plain old fearful. He’d had no contact with his part-time mistress for a long while. Her phone was unobtainable and she wasn’t answering his texts. She was the one who’d gotten him into all this. It would be a doddle she said. Easy money. All he had to do was launder her associates’ money through the companies and gather some information for them during his business outings in the region. It’d been fine until that solicitor looking chap had started asking awkward questions and wanted to meet. She said she knew about him; he was a danger but she would speak with her backers. She also said he should calm down and get a pair. That’s when he’d decided to show her who had balls.
It had all been going so well until that arse Ellis had started to threaten him. He still had the .22 pistol he’d bought from a bloke in a pub years ago. After it jammed on the second round, he was relieved to find that one bullet had been enough to see the little shit off. The problem now was Frankie’s phone. He'd taken it but it dropped out of his pocket as he ran off. He hadn’t noticed until too late and sure enough, the news said it was recovered at the scene.
One stupid mistake. Calling Frankie’s mobile from his office phone when he meant to phone his bookie. Now, Lancashire Police were repeatedly phoning his secretary asking if he’d be kind enough to call them back to arrange a time he would drop in for an interview and somebody else had just called his mobile then cancelled when he answered. Worse still, he was pretty sure she and her backers had finally realised he’d been diverting some of their money to a better cause; himself. He was screwed.
A phone pulsated. “Si, what took you so long?”
“This car park’s busier than you’d think. Anyway, it’s done now.”
They tracked him from the pub, all the way back to Liverpool.
In a quiet side street, Ed Warren pulled up in front of a set of chain-linked gates and removed the padlock. Passing through, he stopped and reapplied the lock, then drove the car out of sight around the far side of the building. Back at the main door, he fumbled with a set of keys as a small grey saloon came to a halt against the kerb opposite. They watched him go in. The place looked as if it hadn’t been used for several years.
“What’s he up to?” Simon glanced back at the other two.
Nicks rubbed his chin in thought. “I reckon he’s got something in there he needs and then I think he’s going to do one.” He passed her the phone. “Anca. Phone his secretary and pretend you want to speak to him about a business appointment. Tell them FNU Tyres and if they ask, your Boss’s name is Hugh Snugh. S-N-U-G-H. Make the rest up as you go along.”
She gave him a quizzical look. He smiled at her. “It’s important. Someone will get it.”
“What if it’s not him, Nicks?”
He leant over and kissed her head, saying quietly. “Don’t worry. It’s him. I know it.” He took a breath. “It’s us or them, sweets.”
He got out and opened the boot. From the black holdall, he took the secure smartphones and clipped in his earpiece. The cover to the spare wheel lifted, he unwrapped the mini suppressor and weapon, joining them together, letting the working parts slide forward. Stashed in his purpose made inside pocket it was indiscernible when the jacket was zipped. He handed Simon one of the smartphones before taking the lock picks from the driver’s door storage compartment.
“Si, let me know what the result of the phone call is. I’m going in.”
Simon looked up at him. “Are you sure he’s alone?”
Nicks nodded. “Pretty sure. From the number of locks he had to undo I’d say there’s no one in there but him. It’s a risk worth taking.”
Simon climbed over into the driver’s seat. Anca was already talking to the secretary. “He’s away on business? Brussels? Well, next week will do then. Best make it Friday just to be sure. My Boss? Yes, it’s Hugh Snugh.” She spelt it out. “Yes, it is unusual.”
Nicks quickly dealt with the chain and padlock. As he thought, the front door had an old-style night latch cylinder lock and was easily picked. An old carpet remnant stopped the door from opening fully. He slid in carefully, slowly pushed the door to and took out the gun. Silent on the stairs, he made it to the doorway. There was a room opposite, padlock on the door. No more stairs. Two things less to worry about. He stepped in.
Ed Warren, on his knees, looked up from the dusty battered old suitcase he was stuffing with goodies from the concealed safe in the corner. His face turned ashen and a dark stain began to spread outwards from his groin.
Nicks slid out of the front door and relocked it, posting Warren’s keys back through the letterbox. Front gate closed, padlock replaced, he slid into the rear passenger seat. “Let’s go. Nice and easy, don’t be attracting any attention.” They glided away.
Simon checked him in the rearview mirror. “Ahead of schedule?”
Nicks nodded. “Ahead of schedule.” He let out a big sigh. “All we have to do now is get our secure phone back from their guy and all go home.”
Anca sat quietly in the front seat. Asking wouldn’t make her feel any better.