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Friday 16th May 2014
“Good morning, Derek!” Thurstan hailed his DS who was waiting for him in the office.
“That for me? Thanks very much,” he said as he relieved him of the mug of coffee he was holding. “Not having one yourself?” He placed it by his computer and hung his jacket on the coat stand before sitting down behind his desk.
Degsy could only mutter, “Er, actually...” before he was interrupted.
“Well, the meeting with the Chief went well yesterday. In the wake of our ‘alley’ victim turning out to be the serial killer, he appears to have forgotten we haven’t solved the McMahon job. Of course, the major plaudits went to the St Helens Enquiry Team, and rightly so. They put in a lot of hard work. Not their fault the killer lived outside the area and wasn’t known to the system. Anyway, it seems we’ve managed to fly in under the radar and we are, currently, in the Chief’s good books because, Derek, he views us as ‘sharing the responsibility for having solved the crime.’ His very words.” He smiled broadly.
Degsy hadn’t seen him quite this ebullient and garrulous before, at least not this early. “Not what I expected when I reached his landing yesterday, I have to say, and I have to admit I was quite relieved when I saw Bill Cheesewright was there as well.” He took a sip of coffee, emitted a satisfied sigh and then beckoned the DS to him. “What’s that under your arm, Derek?”
“It’s today’s newspaper, Boss. I know you don’t usually bother with this sort of thing but I thought you might need to read it. Are you sure you don’t want to savour the moment a bit longer, or at least finish the coffee first?”
Thurstan shook his head. “No, no. Let’s have a look,” he replied enthusiastically.
Degsy handed him the office copy of the local newspaper. Unfolding it, the DCI took another sip from his mug then looked down at the headline which proclaimed: ‘The Shadow!’
The local crime reporter was theorising that a vigilante was responsible for the recent unsolved murders which had left the Police completely baffled. Leaving no forensic evidence behind, able to avoid camera surveillance and virtually disappearing into thin air, the mysterious figure began to take on an almost ‘super hero’ status by the finale.
A serious look replaced the previous jovial countenance; the DCI rubbed his chin several times. “Bugger!” he said quietly. “You know, Derek, I did know it wouldn’t last for long but I was hoping for longer than that.”
Degsy felt he should say something, but wasn’t sure what.
The phone rang. Thurstan picked it up, signalling him with a raised palm to hold his thoughts a bit longer. “DCI Baddeley,” he said. “Yes, Sir ... No, Sir ... I’m on my way, Sir.” He put the phone down, slowly stood up and casually walked to the coat stand in the corner. “Derek, is there any chance we still have such a thing as the Yellow Pages in the office?”
Degsy looked confused. “Yeah, I think so, Boss. Why?”
“Why?” Thurstan threw him a weak smile. “Because, Derek, I might need to stuff it down the back of my pants,” he replied slowly, putting on his jacket with a heavy sigh. He patted his colleague on the shoulder. “Should you need me, I’ll be with the Chief. I may be gone for quite a while.”
Standing by the lift, Thurstan knew he had to tell the Chief everything. He’d known it yesterday; it was why he’d decided to tell Chalkie. He felt bad he hadn’t told his DI before but rationalised he’d enough on his plate investigating Monica Jean’s murder. Still, he felt guilty he hadn’t done it sooner.
Stepping out on the first floor, he saw his reflection in the hard plastic cover of a notice board. Adjusting his tie and quickly brushing his lapels, he took a deep breath and swiped his warrant card through the security device. In the outer office, he introduced himself to the Chief Constable’s Personal Assistant. Pretty in an unconventional way and in her early forties, her short cut hair was almost white and she wore a dark grey, below the knee, pencil skirt with a crisp white blouse.
“I’ve been expecting you,” she said pleasantly, flashing him a dazzling smile as she stood up and walked towards the large door behind her. “Follow me, please,” she told him cheerily.
She knocked and entered without waiting for an invite.
“DCI Baddeley is here to see you, Sir.”
She waved him in, then turned and gave him the same dazzling smile before leaving and closing the door behind him.
The Chief was seated in a large swivel chair behind an even larger oak desk. He was a lean man, mid-fifties, with sandy coloured hair now greying rapidly. “Take a seat,” he said gruffly. He waited until Thurstan was safely seated then lifted a copy of the local newspaper from his desk. He held it as if it were contaminated. “Tell me about this,” he said, fixing the DCI with a stern stare.
And so Thurstan told him. When he’d finished the Chief leant back in his chair and said: “So you’re convinced this information hasn’t been leaked by one of your team?”
Thurstan nodded. “Absolutely. There’s too many inconsistencies, insufficient detail. I suspect it’s come from one of the Departments we’ve been channelling requests through.”
The Chief rubbed his chin. “I’ll have someone carry out a ‘routine audit’ and see what it flushes out. If necessary, we’ll deal with it by issuing a few postings to less interesting places. But just clarify something for me. You’re now waiting for the result of a DNA analysis on a toothbrush you stole from your suspect’s mother? Did I hear that right?”
Thurstan cleared his throat. “Borrowed, Sir. I borrowed it.”
“Borrowed? Without permission? Is that not theft?” the Chief Constable enquired with the hint of a smile.
“Well, not exactly, Sir. There’s no intention to permanently deprive. We intend to give it back.”
He could feel the sweat trickling down his back as he sat forward to emphasise his point.
“Notwithstanding that technicality, you can’t use the result in evidence should it indicate a positive match.” The Chief held his hands out in an open gesture. “It serves only as an indication you’re on the right road. You still need to get your suspect... what’s his name? Nickson?” Thurstan nodded. “And match him against your sample found in the alleyway.”
“That’s right, Sir,” the DCI replied tamely.
The Chief got up and walked over to the window. He stood for a moment in contemplation before returning to his desk to sit on its edge, one leg in contact with the carpeted floor.
“I’m concerned the wider implications of what you’re telling me do not become public knowledge. To be honest, I don’t even want the facts to be known outside the existing circles. It could cause all manner of unwanted reactions. Not least from Special Branch, who I’m not at all sure see me as their master. I think we both know who they do. I don’t want them even thinking they could get involved in what we’ve discussed.” He rubbed his chin again, pensively. “What we need is a bit of ‘divide and conquer’.”
He paused, deep in thought. Eventually, he slapped the desk with his palm and declared, “Right! What we’re going to do is neither confirm nor deny the lone vigilante theory to the media. In essence, we’ll ignore it. What you’ll do is issue a press release in relation to the MacMahon case to the effect, say, ‘information of a positive but complex nature has been supplied by persons involved in organised crime which make protracted international enquiries necessary and we’re hopeful of a satisfactory result’. Yes, that’ll do. We’ll leave it at that. That’s enough to infer a distinct separation from the other cases.
“In the meantime, I’ll have something ‘confidentially leaked’ to the local Press regarding the Councillor’s murder. After all, SB tell me they carried out extensive and exhaustive enquiries and insist the Councillor’s death resulted from an act of a lone previous victim who’s since taken his own life. They don’t fool me but I think the press will buy it. Yes, there’s something to play with there. Nothing contentious, of course; something roughly along those lines will suffice. Seeing as the Security Service have thrown the label ‘National Security’ all over it, we can leave them to carry out any blocking manoeuvres required for the more persistent reporter. Personally, I think it’s a can of worms that’ll explode in their faces, given what’s appearing more regularly in the satirical newspapers. However, it would be nice, at the very least, to have unplugged the fan before that happens.” A thoughtful look. “Yes. I think it’s achievable.”
He got up and wandered over to peer out of the window again.
“Now, with regard to our dead serial killer,” he said quietly. “Well, perhaps it was just the result of a chance encounter. Maybe he tried to rob the wrong person. The city’s not awash with guns, as some would claim, but we all know they’re far too freely available.” He stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets. “I need to speak to someone about that, but it sounds feasible.”
He turned to face Thurstan. “And yes, I realise, should we get our man, it provides him with the basics of an almost instant way out, but judging by what you’re telling me, I’m sure it’s not something he or they couldn’t come up with themselves.”
The DCI nodded sagely. He’d already considered the possibility of Nickson claiming he’d been stabbed in an attempted robbery not long before his assailant had been killed himself.
“That should do it, at least in the short to medium term. No more serial vigilante.” The Chief looked pleased with himself as he returned to sit on the edge of the desk again. Leaning forward, he wagged his forefinger at Thurstan. “You need to get this man, Nickson, and get him soon, if at all possible.” He paused, “If what you say is true, I doubt very much, once arrested, your man is going to contradict whatever we say in respect of his being a lone operator and I’m pretty certain some ‘anonymous benefactor’ will make sure he’s provided with the very best of legal representation.”
Another nodded agreement.
He extended his hand. “Thank you for being so candid, Detective Chief Inspector. It’s refreshing. You should have spoken to me much earlier though.”
Thurstan stood up and shook his hand. “I’m sorry about that, Sir. Thank you for being so understanding.”
The Chief moved behind his desk and sat down. “I’ll get someone I trust from the Press Office to write the Press release for you. Liaise with them when they’ve been in touch.” The phone rang. He held his hand up to indicate Thurstan should wait. “Yes? Ok, Mrs Byrne. Thank you for that. Tell her to take a seat and I’ll see her shortly.” He replaced the phone and looked Thurstan in the eye. “Officially, I don’t condone how you’ve handled this matter but, unofficially, I don’t condemn it either. Keep me posted.”
As he opened the door to leave, the DCI heard: “If need be, at the end of it all, we can always blame the Russian Mafia. They’re hardly likely to complain and no one’s going to ask them for an interview.” He turned and the Chief threw him a mischievous grin.