The Cover Up: A gripping crime thriller for 2018. Marnie Riches

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СКАЧАТЬ a whiff of unwashed boy, lard, school sports-hall changing rooms and the pervasive smell of mildew from living in a permanently damp Victorian terrace. Paddy hated the smell because he remembered smelling exactly like it as a child.

      ‘Your Mam said I could,’ Paddy lied, irritated that he had been caught in the act.

      ‘Well, you can’t. It’s mine and I’ve got private stuff on there.’

      Kyle reached out to snatch the laptop away but Paddy swung it out of his reach. ‘Easy, tiger.’

      ‘Give it back, Ken! It’s mine! Mam bought it for me as a treat when my dad—’

      ‘How long you been stood there?’ He eyed the boy warily, keeping a firm grip on the laptop but snapping the lid shut. What had he seen?

      ‘Long enough,’ Kyle said, scratching at the florid rash of spots on his forehead.

      The kid looked nothing like his mother. His eyes were small and too close together. Paddy found it odd that there were no photos of the father around the house whatsoever, as if he had never existed. Perhaps Brenda had never forgiven him for simply disappearing one day. But with a creep of a son like Kyle, who could blame the guy?

      ‘I was googling my ailments,’ Paddy said, pre-empting any confrontation. Who knew how much the kid had seen? ‘And they’re confidential, right? None of your fucking business, nosey hole.’ Had Paddy been thinking aloud while his back had been turned to the doorway? Conky used to frequently pull him up for that sort of thing. It would be no good if Kyle had worked out he’d been talking to a cop. The kid didn’t seem entirely daft. Unlike his dimbo of a mother. ‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’

      Kyle’s gaze was unwavering. His attentions were focused on the laptop. With a jolt of realisation, it was clear to Paddy that the kid wasn’t suspicious of him at all! He had something to hide. And there was only one thing thirteen-year-old lads might be doing on a computer that they didn’t want a grown-up to know about.

      ‘I won’t tell her,’ Paddy said. ‘About the porn, I mean.’

      Suddenly, the kid’s stern face cracked, offering Paddy a wry, knowing smile. Was this the start of some kind of truce? Was Kyle going to stop being a miserable little sod just because Paddy was poking his mother?

      ‘Ta,’ Kyle simply said, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie over his bony hands. That half-smile had turned to a grin, lighting up his cadaverous ugly face. Maybe the kid was relieved.

      In truth, Paddy wouldn’t have the first idea on how to check someone’s browser history, but he wasn’t about to tell the little dipshit that. ‘Sling your hook, son, while I finish up here. Okay?’ He held his can of lager out to the boy. ‘You wanna swig? Is that what you’re waiting for?’

      Shaking his head, Kyle sloped off back downstairs, still wearing a lopsided smile as though he was the only one in on some big secret. Creepy little smartarse.

      Opening the laptop’s lid, Paddy refreshed the screen to see if Ellis James had responded. Sure enough, he had.

      Re: Maureen Kaplan tip-off

      James, Ellis <[email protected]>

      To: Shadow Hunter ([email protected])

      Have you got addresses for those brothels and also the place in Crumpsall? We’ll treat this information very seriously. I’d really like to meet you face-to-face, Shadow Hunter. Can I take you for lunch? I want to get to know you and let you know how GMP can help you, if you’d like to testify against the O’Brien crew or the Boddlington Gang.

      Regards

      E.J.

      PS: What do you know about the main criminal firm in Birmingham? Have you ever heard of Nigel Bancroft before? If so, what can you tell me about him? I’ve attached a photo.

      Paddy clicked on the attachment and studied what looked like a professionally shot corporate portrait of Bancroft. With his blow-dried hair and bone-white teeth, he put Paddy in mind of some male model off a Just for Men hair-dye packet. He’d heard of him, all right, but the ponce had never dared set foot in Manchester while Paddy had been king. If Ellis James was trying to pump him for information on Bancroft, that meant Sheila – and possibly the Boddlingtons too – were getting the heat. With Paddy gone, why wouldn’t a man like Bancroft have a pop at annexing a destabilised Manchester as Midland turf? It was the sort of stunt Paddy would certainly have pulled. A calculated business risk, well worth taking.

      He thought about the prospect of that dozy show pony, Sheila, trying to defend herself against the likes of Nigel Bancroft: organised, established, semi-legal and experienced as hell. Threw back his head and laughed so hard, he began to wheeze.

      ‘What a bleeding joke!’

      Sheila was just a woman. If the Brummies were after the O’Brien empire, she didn’t stand a hope in hell. Maybe Bancroft would do the job of bringing down his treacherous widow for him.

       Chapter 11

       Sheila

      Sheila was surprised that her breath wasn’t steaming on the air in the office perched high above the warehouse floor of the cannabis farm. Despite the hot, moist, tropical climes artificially created in the vast industrial area below to keep the crops lush, she shivered in that claustrophobic crow’s nest of a room. The stiletto boots she had pulled on before leaving the car were causing her feet to spasm. Or maybe she was just tense as hell at the prospect of what was to come.

      ‘I don’t think this is a good idea,’ Conky said, perched on the dated 1970s desk that still bore the splintered bullet-holes from the Boddlingtons’ attack back in the spring. He removed his glasses with a flourish and fixed Gloria with The Eyes. ‘You don’t have any experience of dealing with these eejits. Colin Chang just about managed because he had the technical nous. But you’re an ex-cleaner, not a pharmacist, so you haven’t even got that, have you? Having a gun in your shopping trolley won’t give you any of the gravitas needed to run the O’Brien business interests.’

      ‘Who says?’ Gloria asked, folding her arms tightly across her chest. Bitterness audible in her clipped consonants. ‘I manage over a hundred women. And you could do with one of our girls in here. Look at the state of it! Has this place ever seen a duster?’

      Conky sighed, rubbing The Eyes like a despairing parent. He looked to Sheila for support, but Sheila focused on Lev, who was rolling Jay’s pushchair to and fro along the wrinkled, threadbare old office carpet.

      Seize control before Conky steam-rollers over you, Sheila O’Brien, she counselled herself. Draw your sodding boundaries. ‘Gloria’s taking over from that prick, Degsy, and that’s my final decision.’ Sheila turned back to her lover and noticed the dejected expression on his craggy face. Right then, Conky put her in mind of a chastised dog. ‘I want him demoted so he’s just running errands. I’m not having him mismanaging staff, leaving us open to attack and losing me money because he can’t organise a piss-up at a brewery. We either pull him into line or he gets booted out on his arse completely.’ She turned to Gloria. ‘That’s your first task, Glo.’

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