Ashes to Ashes: An unputdownable thriller from the Sunday Times bestseller. Paul Finch
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Название: Ashes to Ashes: An unputdownable thriller from the Sunday Times bestseller
Автор: Paul Finch
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Полицейские детективы
isbn: 9780007551309
isbn:
‘Obviously we’re going to have to go up there.’ She dragged a pad from a drawer and started jotting notes. ‘We’ll keep the MIR here for the time being. But we need to liaise with GMP Serious, possibly about opening a subsidiary office in Bradburn.’
A former Greater Manchester Police officer himself, and knowing the macho culture that persisted in that corner – GMP were one police force whose approach to crime and criminals was proactive to say the least – Heck didn’t think this would be quite so easy.
‘I think we’ll have to bring GMP in on it, ma’am,’ he said. ‘It was simple enough fending off the OC, but that was because their foul-up allowed all this to happen in the first place. Greater Manchester’s Serious Crimes Division will be a different matter, and they’ll consider it a right liberty if we just barge in and try to take over.’
‘Story of our life, isn’t it?’ Gemma muttered.
‘Seriously, ma’am. We’re only after Sagan, but they’ve got this whole gangster war thing going on. They’ll have wider priorities.’
Gemma stopped writing and tapped her pen on the table as she thought it through.
‘Well, organised crime is not our specific field,’ she conceded. ‘So any help would be appreciated, I suppose. But like I say, Sagan’s our case and I’m not relinquishing it. I’ll go up there myself. See what I can sort out. In the meantime, Heck, you only need to think about convicting Charlie Wheeler. Join us in Bradburn when it’s over.’
‘Ma’am.’ He nodded and stood up to leave.
‘Unless that’s a problem, of course?’
He glanced back from the door. ‘Sorry?’
‘You hate Bradburn, Heck. You can’t stand going back there. You’ve told me a dozen times if you’ve told me once. It’s got nothing but bad memories for you. You don’t even like anyone who lives there.’
‘I’ve probably mellowed a bit over the years.’
‘Mellowed?’ She smiled without humour. ‘Heck, no one else in the job carries grudges as long as you do. Don’t get me wrong – on one hand I agree that if we set up a new enquiry team in Bradburn, you should be in it for your local knowledge. But on the other, given your history with that place, perhaps it would be better if you were nowhere near.’ She paused to let that sink in. ‘We don’t do emotions in SCU, as you know perfectly well … or we try not to.’
‘Ma’am,’ he replied, ‘if tomorrow morning someone was to detonate a dirty bomb in the centre of Bradburn, the only reason I’d lose sleep is because it would prevent us getting our hands on John Sagan. My desire to bring to book a bloke who hurts people as his business is much stronger than any lingering dislike I may have for the hometown that shat on me.’
‘That’s fair enough, but is this something you actually want to do? And I’m asking you that as a friend, not your boss … maybe even as your ex. We could be up there quite a while. Do you think you could stand that? It’s not like there isn’t lots you can be doing down here.’
‘I’ll be fine. The past is gone.’
‘If you say so.’ She only seemed vaguely satisfied, though she rarely gave a more positive response than this to any of Heck’s glib assurances.
He opened the door. ‘Any message for Penny Flint, in case she gets in touch?’
‘Yes,’ Gemma said distractedly, writing notes again. ‘Tell her she’s a bitch and she deserves locking up. And tell her that if she ever meets me again she needs to tread warily, because it might still happen.’
April was supposed to be a spring month, Danny reminded himself as he plodded down the dank alleys of the Blackhall ward, heavy feet tramping the wet black cobbles. And, while it wasn’t what you’d call bitter, it was a tad colder than it should be at this time of year, even late at night. His breath misted out in front of him as he stumped his way along. Danny hated cold weather, but then it didn’t care much for him. A gangling six-foot-three and bone-thin, he felt it more than most, and his ragged denims and oily old military coat did little to help with that.
Of course, cold or hot, rain or shine, business was business – and it didn’t stop for anything.
Not that Danny Hollister looked much like a businessman, or even someone who might be carrying money. And that was to his advantage at this time of night, though he always had a roll of cash on him and a stash of gear in his pocket.
He reached his normal pitch just after eleven. It was halfway down a narrow brick entry between two derelict warehouses alongside the Leeds–Liverpool Canal, whose water lay black and motionless under a thin film of oil.
Clapping his gloved hands together, Danny waited patiently beneath the decayed stoop of a side entrance. It was a good position. He wasn’t exactly hidden from the world; those who wanted to find him would do so easily. But the canal lay forty yards to his right, and an open cobbled backstreet forty yards to his left; if a patrolling cop turned in from either of those directions all he had to do was back out of sight and beat a retreat through the burned-out innards of the industrial ruin. But in all honesty, what were the chances of a patrolling cop showing up here? It was well known that they were understaffed to an epic degree. Course, if the Drug Squad came sniffing around, that would be more of a problem. But there was an open drain just to the left. Everything could go down there at a second’s notice if it needed to. It was all cellophane-wrapped anyway, and Danny knew where it washed out again. He didn’t see it’d be a problem. Such cops as were available these days surely had more important things to do. OK, Danny traded in crack and heroin as well as grass, not to mention a bit of China. It wasn’t what the average Joe would call small potatoes, but for safety purposes he never carried massive amounts of the stuff. And Danny was a user as much as a dealer. If the time ever arrived, he’d shrug his stick-thin shoulders and say: ‘I only shift enough to feed my own habit.’ And he’d be absolutely sincere.
He coughed harshly. It hurt, the air rasping in his sunken chest. His head ached too – he always seemed to have a headache these days. And a cold. Snot spooled out from his sore-encrusted left nostril, and he wiped it with his skinny wrist.
An engine rumbled somewhere close by.
Danny stepped back into the recess, crooking his head right and left. There was no sign of anyone on the towpath, but the other way he saw that a vehicle had pulled up on the cobbled space beyond the entry. By instinct, his left hand burrowed more deeply into his pocket, fingers caressing the folded switchblade he kept down there.
The vehicle at the end of the alley had turned its lights off, but remained motionless. Danny watched it irritably. This happened on occasion. Middle-class kids looking to score would come down here nervously. Not wanting to get jumped on these mean streets, they’d get as close as they could in the car and then, ignorant of the protocol, would sit there waiting, engine chugging. With every passing minute, it was more likely they’d draw attention to themselves. СКАЧАТЬ