Nemesis Page 21

  “I thought you wanted shut of Piper,” said Johnson. “Granted, when I rang you for his details, I’d no idea you two were as close as you obviously were.”

  He recalled when Dawson had first approached him, not long after Moxley’s original conviction. He wanted him to keep him informed on all things Moxley related and paid him the odd bung for doing so.

  Initially he hadn’t fully understood why, but after hearing Moxley rant on and on about the bent evidence cooked up between Dawson and his stoolie, he’d soon filled in the crossword. What he hadn’t known, was the full nature of Dawson’s private relationship with Piper.

  “I know what you must think of me, but he had me every which way. I had to live with him during the week with my only escape at weekends allegedly to see my family. He was very clingy.”

  “So why didn’t you leave him?”

  “Like I said; he had me. If I ever upset him he could go to the cops about Moxley’s original trial and tell all about how I’d recruited him to give the false eyewitness evidence that eventually put the sicko behind bars.”

  Johnson wasn’t too sure he got that; he couldn’t see how Piper could drop Dawson in it without incriminating himself. No matter, it was the excuse he was obviously using. “And you’ve changed your mind?” said Johnson.

  “I did feel bad about giving you his new name and his Preston address, that’s why I went to see Delany and his DI, Palmer, to give them the same details. That way, George would have a fighting chance. I knew I was okay, as I was on my toes.”

  “Remind me never to change sides and fall for a snake like you, Dawson.”

  “You’re not my type, anyway, giving George the good news should make up for dumping him and legging it. He never needs to know the rest, not now that that sicko’s gone.”

  Johnson didn’t reply. Dawson asked him to let him know as soon as the body was found. He said the cops would probably let him know before it went public, which would be normal. Then he added. “Talking about the cops, you never outed me as your bent cop source of the info, did you?”

  “No, but you’re lucky. I took some intense questioning from Palmer and his DC, Rob. I knew I had to give them something, so said it was an ex-senior cop from Lancs.”

  “Brilliant.”

  “I didn’t give them your name. I told Rob I’d only do that after Moxley was safely caught. It was enough to get him off my back. He rushed off to tell his boss Palmer and I’ve not seen him since.”

  “You’ve obviously not seen the news over the last couple of days.”

  Johnson retorted, “You obviously haven’t, or you’d know I’ve been a bit indisposed of late.”

  “Sorry,” Dawson said, “what I meant is; you obviously don’t know about the DC.”

  He went on to tell him what had happened, well, as much as had been on the telly.

  This came as a huge shock to Johnson. He had quite liked Rob, even though he was dogged in his questioning of him. It made no sense, though. He asked Dawson why. And he said he’d no idea, but Rob being found dead was too much of a coincidence.

  “It could have been unrelated, he was a cop,” Johnson said.

  “Homicide detectives like Delany and Palmer don’t believe in fairies,” Dawson said.

  “What?”

  “Or coincidences.” Dawson explained, before adding, “And, anyway, they’ve named Moxley as the person of interest they are seeking with regard to the murder.”

  Johnson ended the call and said he’d let Dawson know when Moxley’s body eventually did turn up. Dawson thanked him again and added that it could take a while, especially if strong currents had pulled the body under and eventually spat it out to sea. He tried to make a joke about it turning up on the beach at Blackpool, but he wasn’t in the mood.

  He spent the next few minutes staring at the phone. It didn’t make any sense to him why Moxley would want to kill Rob. It did explain how Moxley found out about the safe house where he’d found Johnson, but surely he didn’t have to kill him. God knows what he’d done to Rob to get that info; but he really hadn’t needed to kill him as well. Johnson was glad the maniac was dead. He just wished he’d been the one who had pulled the trigger.

  One thing he was certain of was that Dawson’s world tour was all rubbish. He was still in the UK, no question. He noted as he’d waited for him to answer the call that the ring tone was normal; not those elongated ones you got when calling abroad.

  Chapter Fifty

  The sound of the maid with the vacuum cleaner in the corridor stirred Vinnie from his slumber. His head was banging in rhythm with it. His watch said 9 am and he couldn’t remember if he’d put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door when he’d come in nine hours ago. Or the ‘having a dump or shag’ sign as he used to call it when he’d stayed at hotels with Lesley. He shook her memory from his mind, and checked the inside of the room door - no sign – he was all right. He tried to ignore the sound outside his room, which was increasing in volume along with his bladder, the latter of which he was now suddenly aware. He’d have to get up.

  Forty minutes, two aspirins, one dump and a shower later, he was starting to feel more normal. He’d just put his kettle on when there was a knock at the door. He couldn’t actually remember putting the sign out last night, perhaps there wasn’t one. No problems, the maid could have the room now while he went for breakfast.

  He opened the door to see a tall black-haired woman in her thirties with a Do Not Disturb sign in her hand. She proffered it to him with a smile on her face, followed by a salutation.

  It was not the maid. Although Vinnie had never spoken to her in person, he instantly recognised the local investigative reporter, Christine Jones, from all the TV appearances she had done.

  “I got your note and came as quickly as I could. Can I come in?”

  Vinnie stood aside and allowed her entry, letting the door swing to behind her. He took the sign from her and pulled out a chair, which she took. The kettle clicked off and he offered her a drink, which she accepted. Two teas, milk, no sugar in either. Vinnie took a sip from his brew to ease his parched throat before he spoke.

  “Does anyone know you are here?”

  “Not even my editor, who did wonder where I was off to on a Monday of all mornings, especially as I hadn’t even put my bag down.”

  Vinnie glanced at her handbag on the floor next to her legs and immediately felt slightly embarrassed, as if he was using it as a reason to look at her shapely pins. The bag was a huge shoulder bag. Looking back up, he continued. “Good, because I know we’ve spoken on the phone several times, but we don’t really know each other, so I need to know I can trust you.”

  “I must say I was very curious when I read your note, especially as you wanted to meet here. You said you were off work, so I checked before setting off.”

  Vinnie had expected this. “With the nick?”

  “Yep.”

  “They tell you I was on leave?”

  “If they had, I may not have come – no offence; but downtown Manchester isn’t where I’d expect a local DI to take his holidays.”

  Fair point, Vinnie thought, but he hadn’t wanted to say too much in a written note that could come back on him. “What did they tell you?”

  “The woman on the front desk was more than helpful; she said you’d been suspended.”

  Vinnie groaned. The news hadn’t taken long to spread around the nick. He looked up as he took a second sip of tea and said. “That’s why I wanted to see you.”

  “Don’t follow?”

  “Your ability to get people to tell you things, often far more than they know they should.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment but why am I really here?”

  “Because I’ve got quite a story to tell you, one that you can’t publish until it’s all over. When you do, it’ll be a scoop, no doubt, but you’ll not be able to quote me directly. It will have to come from one of your sources.

  “You have heard of the Leveson Inquiry, I t
ake it?”

  “Trust me, it’s nothing like that. I just need you to help me catch a killer before he kills again. I’ll not compromise you professionally in any way and, before you ask, it’s Daniel Moxley, the prison escapee and, yes, I do know the cops are looking for him.”

  “Why you? And where’s the scoop?”

  “I nearly caught him and discharged my weapon in an effort to make him stop running. It didn’t work. He got away and I got suspended for recklessly discharging my handgun. I need to work on. If I can help catch him, albeit unofficially, I’ll be doing some good and it may mitigate my own situation, too, though my main concern is catching him.”

  “And you want me to be the public face of your private investigations?”

  “Something like that, though I haven’t worked through all the details yet.”

  “Okay,” said Christine. She eyed him cautiously. “But if I can’t write about working with you – which incidentally would be a great angle – then where’s the scoop?”

  “It involves a corrupt ex-cop and a bent prison officer. Any good?”

  Christine grinned. “Hang on, I’ll go get a shovel.” She paused. “You’d better fill in the blanks, Vinnie, and can I call you Vinnie? I’m Christine.”

  “Yeah, of course. Look, once I’ve fully briefed you, if you decide to walk away, you’ve got to promise me that what you’ve heard in this room, stays in this room, and I’ll just have to creep around on my own.”

  “You don’t ask much of a gal, do you Vinnie? I’ve already written a dozen headlines in my head.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “For how long?”

  “Until Moxley’s caught – so, in or out, nothing lost either way?”

  Christine didn’t answer straight away and Vinnie took the opportunity to visit the bathroom and give her a moment. When he returned he refilled the kettle and sat down, facing her.

  “To hell with the diet,” she said, “you’d better put two sugars in the next one. I’ve a feeling I’m going to need the energy boost.”

  “You in then?”

  “I’m in.”

  Vinnie quickly finished making the brew before he rejoined her. He wasn’t too sure where to start.

  “The beginning,” he said, before continuing.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Thirty minutes later it was Christine’s turn to use the bathroom while Vinnie took the break to sit back and relax a moment. He sat up as he heard the WC flush, followed by a running tap. When Christine sat back down, she spoke first.

  “Can I tell my editor what I’m up to? I’ll need to give her something.”

  “So you’re still up for it?”

  “Can’t resist it.”

  “Can your editor be trusted?”

  “She’s not had the best relationship with some of your bosses over the years, but that’s all political; you know how it is. When you need the press then you expect the premier service, but should an article appear criticising local plod, then all the teddies come flying out the pram.”

  Vinnie smiled. He knew how over-sensitive local commanders could be. “Fragile egos, that’s all,” he said. “They all get it where the sun doesn’t shine if public perceptions are fed with negatives.”

  “Which is why we need a free press,” said Christine.

  Vinnie smiled again. He agreed with Christine, but at the risk of turning this into a political debate, he asked about the editor again. Christine said she could be trusted and she had a great professional relationship with her. She also said she would withhold Vinnie’s name until he agreed the time was right. And, in any event, it would never appear in print as he’d remain a ‘source’. He agreed to this but smiled inwardly at the irony of moving from running informants, as he had done as a sergeant, to being one.

  They went for breakfast to discuss where to start. Vinnie said as he had absolutely no idea where Moxley would be now, they should concentrate on those still at risk.

  “You mean the old SIO, Dawson, and Jimmy the Jemmy?” Christine asked.

  “Unless you have any thoughts.”

  “No, it makes sense. Do you know where this Dawson was legging off to?”

  “No idea.”

  “What about Jimmy?”

  “No idea.”

  “Some detective, you.”

  “But I do know where Jimmy’s mum lives.”

  “Okay, Vinnie, what are we waiting for?”

  Vinnie was about to get up from the table when his other phone began ringing in his pocket. He put a finger to his lips as he pulled the phone out. Christine nodded.

  “How are bearing up, Vinnie?” asked Delany’s voice.

  “Had too much to drink last night, but okay.”

  “Can you speak? It sounds public where you are.”

  “Finishing brekkie, that’s all. Fire away Harry.”

  “Just had word from Preston. Two bodies I’m afraid. One definitely connected, one possible.”

  “Shit,” Vinnie said.

  Harry went on to explain about the car that had been left on the car park roof in Preston. It was still being examined in the lab but checks with the last registered owner had led to a scrap yard where he’d sold it for scrap. A search warrant later and the local detectives had found the mangled remains of the yard owner. Harry described how he’d died, and that the locals were still treating it as unexplained.

  “Why?” asked Vinnie.

  “Technically, he might have fallen into the crusher.”

  “Just as the fairies were stealing one of his cars.”

  “I know, Vinnie, but they have to go through the motions, you know that.”

  Vinnie did. He could only hope they did a proper job at the yard. As arduous as the task would be, there was bound to be some DNA there linking Moxley to the scene. He asked Harry about the other one, and he told him about the tramp cum local drug dealer found dead in toilets minus his parka.

  “A cleaner at Piccadilly railway station found a parka this morning stuffed in a cistern in one of the Gents’ toilets. That’s gone to the lab, too, and the transport police are checking the CCTV from both there and Preston’s platforms.

  “So that’s how the sneaky bastard got out of Preston?”

  “It’s looking that way, Vinnie. I’m only really telling you this to warn you. He’s obviously back in Manchester and knows Jimmy and Johnson are free, so who’s to say he won’t start taking an interest in you again?”

  “I don’t think he’s that daft,” said Vinnie, but could only live in hope. He thanked Harry for the call and promised to stay put in the hotel where he was safe. Harry was in the process of ending the call when Vinnie added, “And of course I’ll bell you should he be daft enough to ring me again.”

  Harry thanked him but Vinnie picked up something in his voice. It wasn’t surprise at Vinnie’s last remark, more like recognition of something obvious. Something he knew he should have asked Vinnie. And why hadn’t he? As he mused it over Christine asked what had happened. And what was up.

  Vinnie quickly briefed her on his conversation with Harry, and then elaborated on his concern, which was really only a feeling.

  “Could be why Harry gave you the pay-as-you-go phone in the first place,” said Christine.

  “I don’t follow,” said Vinnie.

  “Well, there has always been a chance that Moxley may make contact with you again, yes?”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, if he has ditched the phone he was using …”

  “Jimmy’s,” Vinnie said, to add clarity.

  “Yes Jimmy’s, therefore the phone tap becomes obsolete.” Christine started.

  Vinnie had a ‘the lights are back on’ moment. “So they’ve bugged my own phone,’ he said. “The sly old dog.”

  Vinnie pulled his normal phone from his other pocket and stared at it, before adding, “Am I glad I called in at your place in person and left a note.”

  “We’ve had a lucky escape. I’d have been ringing y
ou or vice-versa on it at some stage anyway,” Christine added.

  Christine was proving to be a valuable asset already and he was feeling less guilty about approaching her in the first place. He told her he had no idea of the number of the phone that Harry had given him, but it would be too risky for her to use it anyway. It was best kept as Harry had intended, a safe way to contact Vinnie securely. They agreed that their first task was to find the nearest phone shop so both could grab a new pay-as-you-go.

  “I’ll use my old one occasionally, as I might do normally, so they don’t suspect anything,” Vinnie said.

  “Good idea, do you make many personal calls normally?”

  “No, I usually just pass on the odd highly inappropriate text I get, odd call to family, that’s all,” said Vinnie. “I’m starting to feel like a proper criminal. I’ll have three phones, one of which is being bugged, one of which the cops will know nothing about and I’m signed up as somebody’s snout.”

  They both laughed at the same time and Vinnie stood back from the table. “Phones first, and then let’s go pay Jimmy’s mother a visit.”

  Chapter Fifty-two

  An hour and a half later, Vinnie and Christine were approaching a small housing estate in the suburbs of north Manchester. Both had new phones already connected to the network. Jimmy’s mum lived in a small terrace of modern council-owned town houses. All the tiny front gardens were tidy and obviously cared for. A typical working class street populated with people who had pride in their area. It made a pleasant change to drive down a road such as this that hadn’t been blighted with drug dealers or addicts – yet.

  Vinnie pointed out number twenty-three on their right as they passed. The small patch of turf had been cut within the last week and the white paintwork around the single window and door looked fairly new. Vinnie couldn’t see in due in to the net curtains, which was always a giveaway to the demographic of its inhabitants. He pulled up several houses further on and turned to face Christine. “Good luck,” he said as she got out of the car. He drove on and pulled into the first side street, which was on the same side of the road as number twenty-three. He stopped and turned off the engine. He had agreed with Christine before they’d arrived that basically he’d keep out of the way.