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24th March 2014
“Boss, can I have a word?” Degsy stood in the doorway to the DCI’s office looking perturbed.
“Certainly, Derek, grab a seat,” Thurstan replied, looking up from the file on his desk. “What’s the problem? Family issues?”
“No, Boss, just something’s been bothering me since we viewed the ‘Balcony Man’ footage.
“I didn’t come to you earlier because, quite frankly, I thought you’d think it ridiculous. I thought it ridiculous, but I did some digging. It may still be ridiculous, but it’s not as ridiculous as it first seemed.”
“Derek,” Thurstan interrupted him. “Is this some sort of variation on the house-to-house game of trying to see how many times a certain word can be introduced into a conversation? Because if it is, I’ll tell you now, you’re the winner.” He smiled, but Degsy could detect a hint of impatience.
“No, Boss. I know I’m not explaining myself very well. The ‘Balcony Man’ video. You remember the movement the blurred figure made in the close-up?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Thumbs his nose and strokes his top lip and chin with his right hand. Well, I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d seen it before. Exact same thing. It’s been nagging at me. Then, I suddenly remembered. I went to a ‘do’ at the Lady of Man, Dickie Trimble’s retirement bash – do you know him?”
Thurstan shook his head, “No. I think I would remember a name like that. Go on,” he said dryly.
“Well, I saw a guy there who did the same thing, several times during the evening. Exactly like the clip. He had a beard, close-cut like our guy appears to have and it made him look a little bit Middle Eastern, again like our man.
“I didn’t know him, but I know a couple of the blokes who spoke to him so I engineered a meeting with one of them and casually enquired as to who he was; said I thought I recognised him but couldn’t remember the name. Turns out he’s ex Job, always worked from the City and retired ten years ago. I should have left it there but I just had this... this thing... bugging me. So, I did some background checks on him and that’s where it got interesting.”
Thurstan reclined in the tall backed swivel chair he’d inherited from his predecessor, hands clasped under his chin with his two index fingers pressed to his lips like a miniature church spire. “Go on, Derek, I’m listening.”
Degsy took a deep breath. “He’s ex Firearms so I went to the Training Unit and managed to speak to one of the instructors who, as it happened, knew him. He let me see the old records.” He paused for effect. “This guy, Boss, was apparently shit hot. Top scores every time. The Instructor said he was a natural shot. The handguns they were using then were the Sig 226. It’s on our list of possibles from forensic, Boss.” Degsy looked for a reaction but received only:
“Go on.”
“Well, I checked our pension provider, to get his current whereabouts. They gave me his next of kin details and the account they pay his Police pension into.” Thurstan looked at him quizzically. “You were at a meeting, Boss, so I got DI White to sign the authorisation,” Degsy offered as explanation for his DCIs lack of knowledge of the enquiry. “Anyway, his account is in Crosby which is the same as his last known address and it’s where his parents live as well. I did a voters check which came up negative for him but confirmed his parents are still there. So I did some online research and found he bought his house in 2002 but sold it again five years ago. I found the Estate Agent who dealt with it and confirmed.”
“So where is he now? Do we know?” Thurstan inquired thoughtfully.
“Not exactly, Boss. The colleague who gave me the initial info said he’d been told he was living in Berlin.”
He was silent for a few seconds. Thurstan could see there was something else he wanted to say so said nothing, silently inviting him to fill the conversational gap. Degsy cleared his throat.
“And I had a little look at his Bank Account.”
Getting up from his desk, Thurstan slowly wandered over to the window overlooking headquarters car park. He stood gazing out of it. Degsy adjusted his tie and brushed some fluff from his trousers.
“Did we get a court order to access his account?” Thurstan eventually said.
“Well...Umm...”
Thurstan turned and looked at him, his eyebrows raised in a question Degsy knew said: “Please tell me you did.”
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. This was the bit he hadn’t been looking forward to. Thurstan’s expression changed to one that conveyed the message “You twat.”
“I’m sorry, Boss. I really am,” Degsy mumbled.
“Then why did you do it? What on earth possessed you?” Thurstan asked calmly.
Degsy shrugged his shoulders. “I know. I just thought there wasn’t enough to ... and anyway I know someone who works at the bank. They owed me a favour.”
“I hope we’re not adding blackmail to the list now, Derek?”
He shook his head. “No, Boss, it’s not that sort of favour. They’re a good friend. They just took a little look for me and it seems the guy’s never withdrawn any cash outside the UK using their cards, but he does make a sizeable monthly payment to another card provider. Sometimes as much as £3000.”
Thurstan shrugged. “So he’s using another card to make cash withdrawals. So what?”
“But my contact has a mate who works for the other provider and... well... it appears there’s something odd about the way he’s withdrawing it. He said they couldn’t tell me anything else without the right paperwork, more than their jobs are worth.” The errant DS gave him a sheepish grin.
“Oh, I’m so glad I’m not the only one who thinks it’s important.” Thurstan scolded him. He looked out of the window again and sighed. “Ok, I want it done properly though. No shortcuts. No circumventing procedures. Let’s get court orders and see what the banks can tell us about him. We’ve no other leads at present so it would be foolish not to.” He returned to his desk, picked up his mug, swilled its contents around and took a mouthful of cold coffee.
“So what’s his name, Derek?”
“It’s Chris Nickson, Boss. Christopher Peter Francis Nickson.”