‘Never had dealings with Ship personally, ma’am,’ Heck said. ‘But way back when I was in GMP it was said he’d buried more bones than you’d find in the average brontosaurus room. And just skimming these notes, you can see that for yourself. Born in Whalley Range, which is Gangster Central. Lots of known previous for armed robbery, attempted murder, demanding money with menaces, supplying, you name it. He’s the real deal. Likes violence and highly placed. By any standards, a player.’
‘If Ship’s genuinely the big time, why’s he involved in an undignified scrap with a bunch of street-punks in a nowhere place like Bradburn?’ Gemma asked. ‘No disrespect to your hometown, Heck, but it’s hardly Chicago or south-central Los Angeles.’
‘True. But like most other nowhere towns in that part of the world, they’ll have a voracious appetite for drugs, sex and contraband booze. Besides, Bradburn’s probably only the battlefield-of-the-moment. I suspect what this is really about is Ship trying to firm up his control across the whole of the Northwest, which is a massive market. Other local elements will try to resist him in due course.’
Gemma scoured the documentation. ‘Penny Flint … have we got everything out of her we can?’
‘Sorry, ma’am. I just don’t know.’
‘If she’s so keen to see Sagan go down, why didn’t she volunteer the information about Manchester in the first place without you having to pressurise her?’
Heck had been wondering about this too. ‘My reading is that she tried the police route first, but we blew it. This time I think she was hoping that whatever he’s got himself into up north, that’d be the death of him in due course. She reckons prison’s too good for Sagan. She wants him dead. That’s why she tried to engineer that shoot-out.’
‘And this is the person whose info we’re basing a whole new line of enquiry on?’
Heck shrugged.
‘These torture-murders?’ Gemma said. ‘Price and Lumley? How much was publicised?’
‘Only the bare bones, as far as I can see. Names of the victims, confirmation there are sus circs. GMP Serious are sitting on the detail.’
‘But people are not stupid, Heck. These fellas were known hoodlums, so it won’t take long for the public to work out that these are tit-for-tat killings – probably in response to the fire-attack on the sex shop.’
‘Sure,’ he said, ‘but nothing was given to the press about the use of chloroform or the extreme torture. So if what’s concerning you is that Penny might have read all this in the papers and decided to spin us a line about Sagan to send us in the wrong direction, I’m pretty sure that’s not what’s happened.’
‘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