The door in front of them opened and a black-uniformed prison guard asked, ‘Sergeant Gayle?’
Pete nodded and flashed his badge. ‘And DC Miles.’
Dave showed his own ID.
‘Come in, gents.’ He stood back.
‘Yes, you would,’ Pete said to Dave as they stepped through. ‘But if you do, I won’t try to stop them keeping you.’
The door behind them banged shut and a bolt shot across, then another. Despite himself, Pete shivered.
‘This way, gents.’ The guard stepped past them and led them across the wide, blue-brick yard.
They signed in at the reception desk in the main block and Pete was led to an interview room more usually used by inmates and their solicitors.
A table stood in the middle of the room – more of a cell but without the fittings – with a plastic chair at either side of it. In one of them sat the lean, scraggy-looking figure of one of the men who had been arrested in the major anti-drug operation that had brought Pete back to active service two weeks ago. His hands were manacled to a steel ring in the middle of the table, which was bolted to the floor.
‘Afternoon, Stevie. How’s it going?’
‘How do you think?’ Lockwood’s lank blond hair had been cut short, but his attitude hadn’t changed and he still managed to look scruffy, even in prison uniform.
‘Well, it’s not like it’s your first visit here, is it? Should be used to it by now. Anyway, I thought I’d come and brighten your day a bit.’
‘How’s that?’
Pete sat down opposite the drug dealer. ‘Might be able to put in a good word, get a bit shaved off your sentence if you can help me out with something.’
‘I don’t want to get a rep as a bloody snitch, mate. Not while I’m in here.’
Pete shook his head. ‘Where’s your public spirit, eh? I’m not even asking you to snitch on anyone. I just want a bit of info, that’s all. About where I might come upon a certain substance, if I was inclined to.’
Lockwood gave a snort of laughter. ‘What, you getting desperate? I hear you’ve had it a bit rough, lately.’
‘I don’t need drugs when I’ve got the likes of you I can go out and use as punchbags, Stevie. Marvellous release for frustration, that is. But, just for now, I need to know if there’s somewhere in the city a person might get their hands on some sux.’
Lockwood’s eyes widened as he sat back abruptly in his chair. ‘What? I ain’t into weird stuff like that.’
Pete sat forward in his chair. ‘But you probably know who is. Am I right?’
Lockwood frowned. ‘Why would I? I don’t use the stuff and I don’t deal in it.’
‘Like-minded people know about each other, though. It’s a fact of life. Doesn’t matter if you’re into drugs, kiddie porn or model railways, you get to know who else is. The club mentality.’
‘Well, I ain’t the club type. I’m strictly a loner, me.’
‘Oh, well.’ Pete shrugged. ‘You can’t help me, I can’t help you. But the fact that I’ve been here, talking to you, what do you want to bet that’ll stay secret in a place like this, that thrives on gossip? A guard mentions it to another guard, gets overheard by an inmate and soon the whole place knows.’
Lockwood started to look nervous. ‘No, no, no. I’d be dead meat in a week.’
Pete shrugged, pushing his chair back. ‘Nothing I can do about that.’ He waved a hand vaguely at their surroundings. ‘Not my jurisdiction.’
‘Yeah, but . . . That’s setting me up. That’s murder, that is.’
Pete stood up. ‘Nah. It’s just life in prison, that’s all. The way it goes.’
Lockwood peered up at him. ‘You wouldn’t . . .’
Pete chuckled, pushed his chair in under the table and headed for the door.
‘All right, I might have a name I could suggest. But I’d need some sort of guarantee. These buggers don’t piss about. They’d skin me alive, then kill me if they found out I’d talked. Or even suspected it.’
Pete paused, turned back. ‘OK,’ he said slowly. He caught Lockwood’s gaze. Held it. The man looked genuinely nervous. ‘What have you got?’
‘What can you do for me, first?’
Pete grimaced. ‘I can make sure you’re safe, but the charges you’re in for aren’t going away, Stevie. They can’t. It’s not like this is your first time around, is it?’
Lockwood sat back in his chair. ‘You can’t make sure I’m safe in here. No chance.’ He shook his head. ‘I talk to you, I’m a dead man. We’re done here. Guard!’
‘Last chance, Stevie. You tell me or I tell that guard you have done.’
Lockwood’s eyes shot wide. ‘That’d be murder.’
The lock in the door rattled behind Pete as the key was inserted.
‘No skin off my nose. Save the taxpayer thousands in keep.’
‘You wouldn’t. You’re not the type.’
Pete smiled as the door swung open. ‘Try me.’ He turned to the guard. ‘Mr Lockwood and I seem to be done here,’ he said. ‘Very helpful young man, our Stephen.’ He stepped forward. ‘In fact, you know, he might just have—’
‘Gayle!’ Lockwood almost shouted over him. ‘All right, you win. Give us another minute, will you?’
The guard looked at Pete and raised an eyebrow. Pete shrugged and he backed out, closing the door behind him. Pete sat back down, hands flat on the table.
‘You’re an evil bastard, you know that?’
Pete waited silently.
‘OK, there’s a bloke I’d go to if I was asked for stuff like that. He might be able to get it. Only one I know that could. But you really do need to do something for me now. Another jail, another name, the works, or I’m dead. Understand?’
Pete inclined his head. ‘Fair enough.’
‘Fair? That’s the last bloody thing this is. I’ll be looking over my shoulder from now till I peg it. No matter what you do.’
‘What we’ll do, Stevie, is have the bugger if we can get sufficient evidence. Then he won’t be able to come after you.’
Lockwood laughed. ‘You’re joking. Prison won’t stop him, no matter which side of the bars he’s on. Like the bloody Mafia, these blokes are, only worse. The Mafia would do what was needed and leave it at that. These buggers hurt people for the fun of it. They find the worst ways to kill you could imagine, then do it to your family first.’
‘Except you haven’t got any, Stephen.’
Lockwood grunted sourly. ‘Yeah, lucky for them.’
‘So, who is it you’re so scared of, eh? Give me a name. Something to work with.’
‘Petrosyan.’
‘Petrosyan? What’s that? Romanian or something?’
‘They call him the Armenian.’
‘Have you got a first name?’