Dead Beat Part 12

I got to my feet. I might still be able to learn more from Neil, but I'd had enough for one helping. 'Thanks for the info,' I said. 'You've given me a lot to think about.' I wasn't bulls.h.i.tting, either. Neil's reminder of Jett's quick mood changes niggled in my mind like biscuit crumbs in the bed. I almost missed his parting remarks.

'You sound like you're surprised by the catalogue of motives. Listen, I thought journos were backstabbers till I got into rock. Just don't run into any of them in a dark alley.'

With Neil's gypsy warning ringing in my ears, I stood in the hall and wondered which one of Moira's enemies I should go after next. Before I could take another step, the pager went off. In the echoing stillness of the hall at Colcutt Manor it sounded like the four-minute warning. I pulled it out of my pocket and hit the b.u.t.ton that silenced it. The message said, 'Back to base. Double Urgent.'

That's not the kind of message you argue with. Not if your boss is a foot taller than you.

21.

I made it back to the office in record time. The driver of the traffic car I'd zipped past at 110 m.p.h. had clearly been convinced he'd been hallucinating since he didn't get on my tail with sirens blasting. I dumped the car on a single yellow outside the chemist's shop, left the note that says, 'picking up urgent prescription' on the dashboard and hit the stairs running.

I burst through the outer door, red-faced and sweating. Very chic. Sh.e.l.ley looked me up and down and shook her head in a mockery of disapproving motherhood. 'Three deep breaths,' she told me. 'Then you're wanted in there.' She gestured with her head at Bill's closed office door.

'What's going on?' I demanded in a stage whisper. I know just how thin the walls in this place are.

'The cops raided Billy Smart's warehouse this morning. The place was clean as a whistle,' Sh.e.l.ley replied, her voice so low I had to lean close and risk my crowns on her Rasta beads.

'Oh s.h.i.t,' I sighed. 'So who...?'

'Bill's having a post-mortem with Clive Abercrombie from the jewellers' group and DI Redfern. He's been stalling them till you got here.'

Some days I wish I did something simple for a living. Like brain surgery. I flashed a hopeless smile at Sh.e.l.ley, made a throat-cutting gesture and headed for the Spanish Inquisition.

Tony Redfern was sitting on the broad window sill, looking more like a depressed golden retriever than ever. Wavy blond hair, soulful brown eyes, drooping mouth. For all I knew, a wet nose too. He nodded gloomily as I entered. Clive Abercrombie leapt smartly to his feet and inclined his head towards me, every inch the Eton and New College gentleman. You'd never have guessed he was actually educated at a secondary modern in Blackpool followed by Salford Tech.

'Sorry to drag you back, Kate,' Bill said. 'But we really did need your expertise here.' Translation: Someone's going to come out of this looking like a prize a.s.shole, and it's not going to be us.

'I was only down the road. Just routine,' I said.

Tony grinned. 'Giving Cliff Jackson a headache, so I hear.'

'The feeling's mutual, Tony,' I replied, returning the grin. I've known Tony since he was a DS on the burglary squad. He's one of the few coppers I have any professional respect for. 'Is there some kind of a problem with the Smarts?'

'That would be one way of putting it,' said Clive, stuffy as ever. 'It would appear that when Inspector Redfern and his colleagues from the Trading Standards department executed their warrant on Mr Smart's warehouse premises, they drew a blank.' See what I mean? You'd never guess.

I looked questioningly at Tony. He nodded, looking as if he'd just lost the five closest members of his family. 'He's not wrong. We'd had a team watching the place all day, and not a sausage came out that front door. There's no back entrance, no side entrance. The place was clean, Kate. Billy and Gary stood there watching us with a grin on their faces like a pair of Cheshire cats. I don't know where you got your info, but it's a duffy.'

I couldn't believe it. 'We were hoping you would be able to furnish us with some explanation, Miss Brannigan,' Clive said icily. 'You had mounted surveillance personally for some time, I believe.'

'Over a period of four weeks, to be precise,' Bill weighed in. 'Averaging a sixteen-hour day. You were sent our detailed reports, including photographs, Clive.' There was a warning note in Bill's voice. I hoped Clive was alert to it. It's h.e.l.l getting bloodstains out of grey carpet.

'I don't understand it,' I said, going for the note of genuine puzzlement. 'Unless they've changed warehouses. But there's no reason why they should.' I frowned. 'Tony, how long have you had someone on them? Could they have cottoned on and shifted the gear?'

Tony shook his head. 'Nice try, Kate. But we didn't move on them till yesterday morning, and all we did was put a team outside the warehouse. They couldn't have cleared the stuff since then.'

'Perhaps there is a leak inside your organization, Mr Mortensen?' Clive suggested.

I thought Bill was going to explode. He leaned forward in his chair, put his rather large hands flat on the desk and snarled, 'No way, Clive. If there is a leak, it's not from here. People in gla.s.s houses, Clive. I've always wondered how the thieves knew exactly which cupboard wasn't wired.'

Clive looked petulant. 'That's an outrageous suggestion,' he complained. 'Besides, it was your company that installed the alarm system.'

'Bickering isn't going to get us anywhere,' I said, my reflexes geared as ever to stopping the boys squabbling. But I couldn't help feeling Clive had a point about a leak. Unless there had been a tip-off, I couldn't see how Billy and Gary had got away with it. And until I did, Mortensen and Brannigan were going to be the fall guys, that much was clear. 'Look, something has clearly gone down here that needs looking into. Will you give me twenty-four hours to see what I can come up with?'

Clive looked triumphant. 'This will of course be at your own expense?'

Bill scowled. 'I don't see why it should be.'

I stepped in again. They were like a pair of stags in the rut. 'The reward when the Smarts are convicted will more than pay for a day of my time,' I said sweetly. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Tony grin.

'I can't pull my team off,' he said, 'but I won't pursue any active line for another twenty-four hours.' It wasn't much, but it was a small concession. At least I wouldn't be falling over PC Plod on every street corner.

Now the deal was struck, our guests couldn't get out of the door fast enough.

'The guy's a toad,' Bill grumbled loudly as the door closed behind them. I knew he didn't mean Tony. 'None of us is in Billy Smart's pocket. So, what are we going to do?'

'To be honest, I'm not sure. I thought I'd just go walkabout and see what I can dig up. The Smarts are going to be on their guard after last night, so G.o.d knows if I'll get anywhere. But I had to say something to stop Clive sniping away at us.'

Bill nodded. 'Noted and appreciated. What are you going to do about the murder investigation? D'you need anything from me?'

'Cliff Jackson and his merry men have pulled in Maggie Rossiter. It might be worth checking whether she's sorted with a good lawyer. If not, maybe you could give Diana Russell a bell? Jackson also wants to see me tomorrow morning, but I can handle it. Other than that, put it on hold. If Jett calls, tell him I'm pursuing some leads among the people she was hanging out with before she came back to the manor. OK?'

'No problem. I really am sorry to have dragged you back like that, but it was one of those situations where you have to put on a show of strength. Besides, if you hadn't been there, that s.h.i.thead Clive would have spent the whole time putting the knife into you.'

I knew Bill had enough on his plate right now without having to put up with Clive whingeing for England, so I gave him a rea.s.suring smile and said, 'As my grannie always said, if they're talking about me, they're leaving some other poor soul alone. I'll let you know when I get somewhere, OK?'

He looked relieved. 'Thanks, Kate. And, by the way-Clive's full of s.h.i.t. I know you did that job properly. If anyone f.u.c.ked up, it wasn't you.'

Now all I had to do was prove that.

I spotted Tony Redfern's surveillance team on my first pa.s.s of the Smarts' warehouse. In that area, any child over two and a half would have clocked them straight off. Newish Cavalier, base model, with a whiplash radio aerial. Two clowns in suits trying to look tough. Pathetic. They blended in like Dolly Parton in a Masonic lodge.

I cruised round the block. Tony had been right about the absence of other obvious exits. The Smarts' warehouse was flanked by two others. All three of them backed on to one big warehouse that was now a tyre and exhaust outlet, staffed by a constantly changing team of no-hopers in really practical sunshine yellow overalls. I slowed down, but studying the Fastfit premises told me nothing.

I pulled up near the corner and studied the layout in my rear-view mirror. As I watched, a Transit van reversed into Fastfit's loading area. The driver opened his door and got out. For some reason, I wasn't too surprised to see it was Gary Smart.

Three minutes later, my car was in one of Fastfit's bays, while I did the foreman's head in with a series of inquiries about the prices of tyres, shock absorbers and exhausts for my Nova. And my boyfriend's Beetle. And my dad's Montego. And, incidentally, while I got a good look at what Gary was up to.

Cardboard cartons about the size of a case of wine were being unloaded from the back of the van, then carried down between the stacks of tyres to the foot of a flight of wooden steps leading up to the exhaust storage area. I began to see a tiny glimmer of light.

Stopping the foreman in mid-sentence, I thanked him profusely, and climbed back behind the wheel. I couldn't help admiring Billy Smart's forward planning. I drove about half a mile through the back streets before I found what I was looking for. I took my camera case out of the boot and walked into the block of council flats and headed for the lifts. I was in luck. I had to wait nearly three minutes, but at least the lift was working. I got in, trying to breathe through my mouth only, and got out on the top floor.

It took me a moment to get my bearings, then I chose my door. I knocked politely, and breathed a sigh of relief when an elderly woman answered the door. It opened three inches on the chain and she looked out suspiciously. 'Yes?' she said.

I gave her the uncertain smile. 'I'm terribly sorry to trouble you,' I started. 'I'm a photography student at the Poly and I'm doing a project for my finals. I've got to get photographs of the Manchester city centre skyline from lots of different angles, and this block is just perfect for me. I know it's a terrible imposition, but I wondered if I could possibly step out on your balcony for five minutes to do some pictures?' I looked hopeful.

She looked suspicious and craned her neck to see past me. I stepped back obligingly so she could see I was alone. 'I could pay you a small fee,' I said, deliberately sounding reluctant.

'How small?' she asked belligerently.

'I could manage ten pounds,' I replied hesitantly, taking my wallet from my pocket and opening it.

The money made her decision for her, and I could see why as soon as I stepped inside. The whole place was threadbare-carpets, curtains, furniture. Even her cardigan was darned on the elbows. There was a pervasive smell of staleness, as if fresh air cost as much as every other commodity that made life worth living. I didn't like deceiving her, but consoled myself that it was in a good cause, and besides, she was a tenner richer than she'd been this morning.

She offered me a cup of tea, but I declined and waited patiently while she unfastened the two locks on the balcony door. Maybe she'd been watching too much television and really believed in Spiderman.

The balcony was perfect. I opened my case and took out a 400mm lens. I twisted it into my Nikon body and leaned the heavy a.s.sembly on the balcony rail. I looked through the viewfinder. Perfect. Now I could see exactly how it had been done. I started shooting, then, to prove the G.o.ds were really smiling on me, Gary Smart appeared in shot. I kept my finger on the trigger and let the motor drive do the work.

An hour later, I was surveying the results with a feeling of deep satisfaction. I marched through to Bill with a sheaf of prints and dumped them on his desk.

'Elementary, my dear Mortensen,' I announced.

Bill tore himself away from his screen and picked up the pictures. He thumbed through them with a puzzled frown, then, as he reached the ones with Gary, he laughed out loud.

'Bang to rights, Kate,' he chuckled. 'Tony Redfern will be kicking some a.r.s.es tonight.' He picked up the phone and said, 'Sh.e.l.ley, can you get me Tony Redfern, please.' He covered the mouthpiece and said, 'Well done, Kate. After I've put Tony in the picture, I'm going round to see Clive and tell him myself. I can't wait to see the grief on his face...h.e.l.lo, Tony? Bill Mortensen.

'Kate's just walked through the door with your answer.' I knew Tony would be squirming at the glee in Bill's voice. 'Listen to this for a scam. The Smarts' warehouse is the middle one of three, right? They all have pitched roofs, right? And all three back on to Fastfit. Which has a flat roof behind a parapet so you can't see it from the street. Still with me? The gear comes out of the window in the gable end of the warehouse, on to the Fastfit roof, down to the Fastfit loading bay then over the hills and far away...Yes, Kate has it all on film. They've been moving gear back in today. They must have spotted your surveillance team and shifted everything out in advance of the raid. And of course, you wouldn't be moving on them again till you saw something going in. And long before you did, you'd lose interest.'

Nothing like making someone's day. I headed back for Colcutt hoping that someone would make mine.

22.

By the time I got to Colcutt, the buzz of tracking the Smarts' scam had worn off and my stomach seemed to think it was time for something a little more substantial than black coffee. I headed for the kitchen, planning to take some of my wages in kind. On the way, I noticed that the rehearsal room was taped up with police seals. I wondered how long it would be before Jett felt like making music again.

I poked around in the kitchen, checking out the fridge, the freezer and the cupboards. I opened a can of Heinz tomato soup, the ultimate comfort food, emptied it into a bowl and put it in the microwave. I'd only managed to get a couple of spoonfuls down when the door leading into the stable yard opened and Micky walked in, shaking the drops of rain off his waxed jacket. It was the first time I've ever seen anyone with arms so long their wrists actually stuck out of the sleeves of a Barbour.

He nodded at me and headed for the kettle, pulling off a tweed cap which had left a circular impression on his thin blond-streaked brown hair. The effect was quite bizarre. 'b.l.o.o.d.y awful weather,' he complained, the cigarette in the corner of his mouth bobbing up and down like a conductor's baton.

'You're not wrong. You wouldn't have caught me out in it unless I'd been working,' I fished. He didn't rise. All I got for my pains was a grunt that fitted well with his simian features. I tried again. 'Have you got a minute? I need to ask you some questions.'

Micky sighed deeply and tossed his cigarette end into the sink. 'It's doing my head in, this business. Questions, questions, questions. And Plod all over the sodding place. All I want to do is get on with my job. Some of us have got deadlines to meet,' he grumbled.

'Inconsiderate of Moira, really,' I replied. 'But the sooner you answer my questions, the sooner it'll all be sorted,' I added with a confidence I didn't feel.

'Might as well get it over and done with,' he muttered irritably, tossing a teabag into a mug and swirling it around viciously with a teaspoon. He removed his jacket and threw it over a chair, then brought his tea over to the table. He perched on the edge of a chair and immediately lit another cigarette which he continuously dabbed nervously at his lips. Apart from the cigarette, he looked just like those chimps they dress up for the PG Tips adverts. I half-expected him to answer my questions in Donald Sinden's fruity tones.

'I need to know your movements around the time of Moira's death,' I said bluntly.

'I didn't make any,' he replied belligerently, his fingers beating a silent tattoo on the side of the mug. I gave him the benefit of my quizzical look. I couldn't do words because I had a mouthful of soup. 'I was in the studio all evening,' he finally volunteered.

'Doing what, exactly?' I pursued.

'Doing what I do, exactly. Jett and Moira had been in earlier, around eight, listening to what we'd been working on that afternoon. Moira was full of bright ideas about the mixing, and some synth effects she wanted me to lay down. I was fiddling around with a couple of tracks, trying various things. I wanted to have a selection of versions for them to hear the next day. Time pa.s.ses fast when you've got your head down.' Micky took a swig of tea and sniffed loudly as the steam hit his cold nose. It was far from incontrovertible evidence of what Gloria had suggested and Neil had confirmed.

Even the cloud of smoke slowly filling the kitchen couldn't put me off my soup. I finished it, and the sound of my spoon sc.r.a.ping on the bottom of the bowl made him wince. 'I understand Moira had pretty firm ideas on what she wanted the alb.u.m to be like,' I remarked.

He crushed out his cigarette, swallowed some more tea, sniffed again, blew his nose on a large, paisley patterned handkerchief and lit another cigarette before he answered. 'She was a royal pain,' Micky informed me. 'Let's try it this way, no, maybe not, let's go back to what you wanted to do in the first place,' he mimicked with cruel accuracy. 'She'd been out of the game too long to have a b.l.o.o.d.y clue what she was talking about.'

'Doesn't sound like you're too sorry that she's dead,' I said.

The look of astonishment that crossed his face came as a genuine surprise to me.

'Of course I'm b.l.o.o.d.y sorry,' he shouted. 'She was a b.l.o.o.d.y great songwriter. Just because she couldn't do my job doesn't mean I didn't respect the way she did hers. She might have been b.l.o.o.d.y difficult to work with, but at least she gave you something you could get your teeth into in the first place.' He subsided as quickly as he'd erupted and slouched even deeper in the chair. 'For f.u.c.k's sake,' he muttered.

'I'm sorry,' I said, meaning it. 'Did anyone else come down to the studio while you were there?'

He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his eyes in concentration. 'Kevin came in. I've been trying to remember if it was once or twice, but I'm not sure. He wanted to hear how it was going, but I wasn't really in the mood. I was into the music you know? I didn't have a lot left over for small talk.'

'Screws your memory up, doesn't it?' I said sympathetically.