“Harry, if I had my way you’d be charged with murder by now.”
“I didn’t do anything. You know that.”
“I don’t bloody well know anything of the sort, Harry.” Hazel stopped talking. Took a breath and some time to calm down. “Accessory to murder.” She said, “If it was up to me that is what we would charge you with and none of this would be happening right now.”
“But I didn’t do anything.” He continued to wave his manacles at her. The other police officers kept quiet and minded their own business. This was a pleasant run in the country so far. A trip out. None of them wanted to spoil it. “I told you, that was Tony Symes.”
“No.” Hazel said, “You didn’t tell me.” She took out her notebook very slowly and wrote down his words. “You said you wasn’t going to tell me anything.”
“I told that Scottish bird.”
“Ms Russo.” Hazel said. Michelle had spent a while with Harry getting him to agree to testify against the Symes brothers. Hazel still considered that a big joke. She didn’t think he knew anything worth hearing. But he might put Tony Symes behind bars for a while.
“Yeah, The Scottish bird like I said. She had a very unusual name. Russo isn’t Scottish is it?”
“Stop trying to sound clever, Harry. It doesn’t suit you. I’m not your friend.”
“No, I know you’re not. Bloody pain in the arse you are.” He lowered his voice at the end. “Stupid bitch.”
“Play nice, laddie.” Said the sergeant, who also had a Scottish accent.
“Yeah, and I suppose your name’s bleeding Pavarotti.” Harry said, just loud enough to be heard.
“No, laddie, it’s Nowak.” The sergeant said, “My grandad was a Polish immigrant. He bloody loved it in Glasgow.”
“Should have bloody stayed there then, shouldn’t he.”
“He did, laddie.” Sergeant Nowak said quietly.
Hazel sighed, “Harry, this may be difficult for you to believe, God knows I’m having trouble with the concept myself, but we here, all of us, have been told we have to protect you. It’s not the best idea to annoy us. OK?” Outside the van she could see the town looming up.
Harry Sanford gave a more expressive shrug than he should, “Yeah, all right.”
“We not going through town?” Hazel said as the van driver took the second exit rather than the first on the roundabout.
“No, we have to go straight to the safe house. The inspector is going there ahead of us.”
Hazel didn’t know exactly who the inspector was. She wasn’t familiar with the Dransfield police and no one had bothered to enlighten her. Apparently these things were on a need to know basis . It was also clear that, as a detective sergeant, she didn’t have any need to know right at this moment.
“Safe house?” Sanford said, he sounded a bit nervous.
“Don’t read too much into that, Harry.” Hazel said, more relaxed about it, “It’s a fancy name for a farmhouse that we rented.” She did know a bit about the safe house, or farm house, as she insisted she did have a pressing need for details concerning security. Even if she did feel this whole exercise was a waste of time. “It’s usually used as a holiday cottage.” She looked out of the window. Dransfield was close enough to Caneston to share its miserable climate. It was often difficult for Hazel to understand why so many people, Americans and mainland Europeans, would want to holiday in an area where it did little else but rain. There were the museums and historic monuments. But when she went on holiday she wanted to get some sun. Also to be as far away from this dreary place as possible. “So it’ll be pleasant at least.” She had no idea what it would be like. Except that it wouldn’t be a working farm.
They skirted the town quickly and soon arrived at the farm house, or safe house, which was a smallish, very rural looking building surrounded by about half a dozen even more rural looking buildings. It was all very picturesque but the out buildings looked a bit too close to the main house for Hazel’s liking and at least two of them looked reasonably solidly built. Even before they pulled into the driveway Hazel could see at least two ways a small group of armed men could make their way, unseen, almost to the front door.
Several cars were parked, rather haphazardly, in the drive, and the van pulled up behind them.
“I’ll turn it round while you’re inside.” The driver said, “I suppose we’ll all be going back together.”
“Except Harry here.” Said the sergeant.
Hazel wasn’t planning on going back in the van but said nothing. She, Sanford, and the other police officers climbed out. There were two Dransfield constables waiting. But Hazel said to the sergeant, “Make sure they show you their warrant cards.”
“Too bloody right. The sods will want to see ours.”
Hazel left them to the process of mutual identification while she went to look in the nearest outbuilding.
It was empty of course. She didn’t know exactly what it had been used for when this was an active farm. She sniffed. Probably some kind of animal.
It was dusty grey breeze blocks inside with what might have been some kind of plain wooden fencing. That suggested, strongly, some kind of animal enclosure. She was a city girl but she did know you don’t paint wooden fences that enclose animals. The concrete floor had nothing on it, though there were a number of weeds starting to grow through it.
She didn’t like the look of the rear entrance. It was a wooden stable type door and didn’t strike her as overly secure.
Ok, so it was an unsafe house as far as safe houses went. Hazel shrugged and went back to join her colleagues. They had established that everyone was exactly who they claimed to be.
For good measure Hazel showed her identification and she took Sanford inside. The other Caneston police remained outside.
That was another problem with this so-called safe house. Right now at least eight people, including herself, knew about this place and who was here. Overall there were at least a dozen people, perhaps fifteen. It was far too many.
Hazel’s misgivings about the operation were rising too rapidly for comfort.
She said, “Stay alert.” To the Sergeant, who nodded.
She was let in to the house, she could no longer call it a safe house, by a tallish, rather thin, scruffy looking man in his twenties. The scruffiness didn’t look contrived either. The double denim and a dark T shirt seemed to be his natural state. His trainers were cheap and he looked as if he’d not bothered to shave this morning.
He was about as tall as Hazel and gave her a grin behind a vaping machine.
“Who are you?” Hazel said. She’d never met the young man before and she didn’t fancy smiling at someone she didn’t know.
“Jerry Price.” He stuck out a hand, as if his name meant something.
Hazel looked at the hand. It told her he was as young as he looked, and that he’d decided not to wash this morning. He was, also, not a manual worker.
“You’re not a solicitor.” Hazel said, “They wouldn’t let you out dressed like that.” She continued to ignore the hand until he shrugged with remarkable indifference, and put it down. “I hope you’re not supposed to be a police officer.”
He continued to smile at her, “Temporary Detective Constable Jerry Price.” He said brightly, “Price with an I.”
Hazel really didn’t care and Harry Sanford shook