No Place to Hide

In a few minutes, the scene would change completely, the ring of a bell releasing a dark tide of noisy humanity onto the quiet streets like a swarm of angry bees.

‘How’s she doing, boss? Annie? She all right?’

Pete blinked. ‘Yes, she’s great. Don’t know what I’d have done without her, the past few months, to be honest.’

‘And Louise?’

Pete glanced across. Saw the genuine concern in her expression. Jane was more than a junior officer. She was a friend. They had been partners for three years before he got the sergeant’s exam. He trusted her like no one else on the force – even their DI, Colin Underhill, who had been both a boss and a mentor through their early years in CID. ‘She’s . . . She seems to have turned a corner. The fact that Tommy was there with Rosie, that he’s still alive . . . It’s given her something to focus on. Some sort of hope. I wouldn’t want to be Simon Phillips if she ran into him, but…’

Jane laughed. ‘Not impressed, eh?’

‘Not really. It’s been almost seven months and the only real evidence he’s got is what we gave him last week, from the Rosie Whitlock case. She’s bad enough with me. Why could I bring Rosie back and not Tommy? Where is he? Why won’t he come home? What are we doing to find him? Not that I can blame her. I just wish I had the answers for her. But, if she got hold of Simon, she’d have his balls for earrings.’ He glanced in the mirror, but the school was gone from sight around a bend in the road.

*

Dave stared up at the castle-like gatehouse of the dark-brick Victorian prison with its huge arch-topped doors of incongruously bright blue.

‘Bugger, that took a can or two of paint, didn’t it?’

‘Just don’t say anything about cheap labour.’ Pete knocked on the man-sized door cut into the big gates.

‘Would I?’

The team had drawn a blank on their search for a source for the suxamethonium and on Tyler’s internet history, so Pete had sought Silverstone’s permission to talk to other people’s arrestees and brought Dave along to lighten the load and speed the job up while the rest of the team continued to search for other clues.

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?’

‘Gagik.’

‘And where will I find him? Or, put it another way, where would you find him?’

‘Dunno. He’d find me if I put the word about that I was looking for him. He’s got ears everywhere.’

‘OK. And he wasn’t caught up in the arrests last week, when you were collared?’

‘Not that I’ve heard. But he’s the main man, isn’t he? You wouldn’t have got him.’

Pete smiled. ‘But we will. I can promise you that.’ He stood up. ‘All right. Thanks, Stevie.’

‘What, that’s it? You’re off? What about me? Come on, man. You made a promise.’ Lockwood’s voice was rising, his fear genuine.

Pete hammered on the door with his fist. ‘Don’t panic,’ he said. ‘It’s bad for you.’

The lock rattled again and Pete stepped aside to allow the door to swing inward.

‘What are you doing, you bastard?’ Lockwood shouted.

Pete turned and winked at him, then stepped out. He waited until the door was locked firmly behind him, Lockwood yelling desperately on the other side of it, before turning to the guard. ‘Keep him in there for now while I have a word with the governor.’

‘Right you are, sir. This way.’

*

Pete scooted his chair around to Jane’s side of the desks.

‘Ben.’

Myers looked up and Pete nodded for him to come around and join the rest of the team on the other side of their desks. When they were all together in a tight bunch, Pete leaned forward, elbows on his knees. ‘Dave, keep half an eye on the rest of them, will you? This is strictly between us for now.’ He glanced around his team. He had their full and serious attention now.

‘What is it?’ Jane asked.

‘Has anyone here heard of the Armenian?’

Blank looks and shaking heads gave Pete all the answer he needed.

‘Gagik Petrosyan?’

More shaking heads.

‘Who’s he?’

‘Good question. I’ve been talking to the bloke who gave us Ian Sanderson. He says that Petrosyan is known as the Armenian, and he’s the likeliest source of the sux used to paralyse Jerry Tyler and possibly the insulin used on Andrew Michaels. Yet, not only was Petrosyan not arrested last week, no Armenians were.’ His gaze went around the team again.

‘None?’ asked Dave.

Pete tilted his head. ‘I checked with the prison governor.’

‘And you believe Lockwood?’ asked Jill.

‘His fear of Petrosyan was genuine. He didn’t want to tell me and, when he had, I let him sweat for a minute or two, to make sure. So, yes. I believe him.’

‘These Eastern Europeans can be some vicious bastards,’ Dave said. ‘Armenians, Albanians, Romanians – the gangs up London and so on, they’re into all sorts. People trafficking, prostitution, drugs, the lot. And you certainly don’t mess with them, that’s for sure.’

‘Yeah, but for none of them to be arrested . . .’ Jane’s voice tailed off as the significance hit home. There was no need to put what she was thinking into words. Deliberately or otherwise, there had been a leak. Someone had fed the gang vital intel on an ongoing operation.

Pete nodded. ‘Hence the need to keep this between us, at least for now. And I’m going to have to go to Silverstone with it. Meanwhile, all of you reach out. Tap up your CIs, see if you can get anything on these Armenians.’ He slapped his knees and sat up straight. ‘We might have had to hand the child-sex case off to London, but this one’s all ours.’

‘Shit or glory,’ said Dave.

‘Up to us to make sure it’s glory, then. Right?’

CHAPTER FIVE

‘Steve Patton here. Fire investigator. Sorry it’s taken so long to get back to you, but I’ve been kind of busy.’

‘Hello,’ Pete replied. ‘No problem. Thanks for calling. What have you got?’

‘Nothing basically. The caller blocked his number.’

‘Oh.’ That sounded suspicious right off the bat.

‘Yeah, so all I can tell you is, it was a youngish-sounding male.’

‘Nothing distinctive in the background?’

‘Nope.’

Pete grimaced. ‘OK. You couldn’t send me over a copy of the tape, could you?’

‘I haven’t got it – the call centre have. But I can get them to do it, yeah.’

‘Great. Thanks, Steve.’

‘You got something, boss?’ Jane asked as he ended the call.

‘Nothing useful, no. Just, whoever called in the fire at Tyler’s didn’t leave their details and blocked their number when they made the call.’

She shrugged. ‘Maybe they just didn’t want to get involved further than doing their civic duty.’

‘Maybe.’ But, how many people would even think of blocking their number for reasons like that? Not many. And the fact that it was a ‘young-sounding male’, made it seem even more suspicious.

Pete put his phone away and headed for the DCI’s office.

*

‘Again?’ Silverstone put down his pen and sat back in his chair. ‘What is it this time, Detective Sergeant?’

‘I’ve got some bad news, sir.’

‘Strangely, I’m not surprised. What is it?’

‘Operation Natterjack, sir.’ The DCI’s pet project had been a huge force-wide synchronised series of raids designed to wipe a large proportion of the two counties’ drug dealers and pushers off the streets in one go. It was the reason that Pete had been recalled two weeks early from compassionate leave, to provide cover here in the station while the raids were carried out.

‘What about it?’

‘There was a comprehensive and glaring omission from it, sir. I’ve been speaking to a CI I developed recently and to the governor of the city jail and it seems that there were no arrests at all amongst the Armenian community, yet there definitely should have been.’

‘Explain.’ Silverstone’s dark eyes turned cold as he sat forward, hands clasped on his desk.

Pete quickly laid out the facts.

‘And, what does Jim have to say about this?’

DS Jim Hancock was the local drugs expert and the man who had originally arrested Steven Lockwood for possession with intent to supply Class A drugs.

‘I haven’t spoken to him, sir. In the circumstances, I thought it best to bring this straight to you, as someone who definitely doesn’t have an axe to grind.’

Silverstone’s eyes widened. ‘You’re suggesting that Jim Hancock might be . . . ?’

‘I’m not suggesting anything, sir. I’m eliminating the possibility. I thought it best, in the circumstances. As I said, not only was the Armenian left out of the frame, so was his entire crew, or family or whatever they are.’

‘So, you immediately suspect your colleague, a man you work with . . .’

‘I don’t suspect anyone, sir. Not without evidence. But there’s only one man in this nick that we can be sure has no local connections that might have jeopardised any part of Operation Natterjack. And that’s you. So, here I am.’

‘Well, thank you for the vote of confidence, Sergeant. I think. But how would you suggest we proceed from that point?’

‘Cautiously, sir. Cards close to the chest. My team weren’t involved in the operation and we developed this conclusion between us, so they’re under strict orders to tell no one else about it. For now, we’re intelligence-gathering. Does the Armenian really exist? If so, what connections does he have? Where is he? We have a name for him, but is it real? Then, we go from there.’

‘Very well. But, if this gets out, Sergeant . . .’

‘I know.’ I’ll have your full support – not.

Silverstone shook his head. ‘You don’t know the half of it. You’ll be a pariah. Your career as a police officer will be over.’

Pete drew a slow breath, fighting down his anger. What the hell had he expected? Silverstone didn’t want his record tarnished, his rise through the ranks jeopardised or even delayed. ‘I don’t want it to be true any more than you do, sir. These are people I’ve worked with for years. Friends, some of them. But if it is true, then it needs dealing with. And, if I can be frank – from your point of view, it’s better dealt with promptly than discovered later, after you’ve moved on, isn’t it? I mean, if someone else came in after you and uncovered it, there’d inevitably be questions asked about why it wasn’t dealt with sooner.’

He saw the change in Silverstone’s expression and wondered if he had taken a step too far. ‘Yes, Sergeant,’ the DCI said with exaggerated calmness, his dark eyes glittering with barely suppressed anger. ‘But be absolutely clear. If it’s true, I want it weeded out, quietly and efficiently. If it’s not, then woe betide the man or woman who lets it out. Even a hint of a suggestion of it.’

‘Sir.’

‘Find what’s to be found, Sergeant, tell absolutely no one and bring it straight to me. Clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

*

Walking back into the squad room, Pete saw that Dick Feeney was back at his desk from his afternoon’s mandatory training. The other three teams looked and sounded replete with returned bodies, too.

‘Nice nap, Dickie?’ he asked as he took his seat.

‘Well, it comes but once a year. Be rude not to take the opportunity, wouldn’t it?’

‘Have this lot filled you in?’

‘Yes. Bit of a dodgy wicket, isn’t it?’

‘You haven’t heard the half of it, matey. Fast-track is not a happy camper. I thought he was pissed off this morning, but now I’m really off his Christmas card list. We’re on our own on this. No one but us must even get a hint of a breath of a clue about it until we’ve reached a conclusion and taken it to him, in person. He doesn’t want it screwing up his promotional prospects.’

Dick laughed. ‘And there’s the real rub, eh? Never mind any other implications.’

‘Well, at least we know where we stand,’ Jane said from opposite Pete.

‘Yeah, on a cowpat in the middle of a slurry pit,’ Dave agreed.

‘Doc Chambers called while you were in there,’ Jane said. ‘He’s been on to the coroner and got two exhumation orders for other potential victims. He’ll keep us updated, he said.’

‘Any news on the foreign fellow we were talking about earlier?’

‘Nothing yet,’ Dave said.

‘Well, keep on it. If he’s out there, we need to find him before he gets nervous and does a disappearing act. I’ll be back in a minute.’

*

Although there was a staff canteen on the top floor of the station, a small storeroom opposite DCI Silverstone’s office had been converted into a kitchenette. White cupboards and a cheap grey worktop held a microwave, toaster and fridge as well as a hot-water geyser above the sink. Pete got six mugs out of the cupboard and spooned in the makings of four coffees and two teas. Then he took out his phone and tapped the speed-dial for home.

It was picked up on the fourth ring. ‘Hello?’

‘Hi, Button. How was your day?’

‘OK. You’re going to be late, aren’t you?’

Pete swirled the tea bag in the second cup until it looked the right colour. ‘Afraid so, love. We’ve picked up a new case and it’s a complicated one. We need to get the basics done before we call it a night. Fish and chips?’

‘What time?’

‘Half-seven at the latest.’ He hooked out the tea bag and dropped it in the pedal-top bin.

‘OK.’

‘Sorry, Button. I know you miss me. But not as much as I miss you.’

‘So you say.’

‘What does that mean? Are you taking your mum’s side now?’

Louise resented the fact that he’d gone back to work long before she was ready to do the same. It followed on, no doubt, from the arguments they’d been having for some time before their son went missing about the hours he put in, here at the station. He couldn’t understand why, as a nurse, she couldn’t – or wouldn’t – grasp that his job was as much a vocation as hers, the main difference being that, when her shift ended, there was someone there to replace her whereas he didn’t have that luxury.

‘It means actions speak louder than words, Dad. It’s one of the things I learned about at school today.’

‘I’m going to have to have words with that teacher of yours.’

‘She’s right, though, isn’t she?’

‘Who – your mum?’ Pete lifted milk from the fridge and started pouring it into the six mugs.

‘No, silly. Miss Jennings.’

He sighed. ‘Yes, Button. She is. At least, mostly. Me, I’m conflicted. It’s a special case. I’ve got two places I need to be and I can’t be in both at once. Anyway, I love you and I’ll be home as soon as the wicked DCI lets us out, OK? How’s your mum?’

He finished pouring the milk and put it away.

‘She’s OK. She’s watching Countdown.’

Pete’s lips pressed together. Louise had started to improve, recently, from the semi-catatonic state she’d inhabited for months after Tommy’s disappearance. His showing up in the Rosie Whitlock abduction had helped, even if he did vanish again at the first opportunity. But the fact that he clearly wasn’t coming home had knocked her back almost as soon as the fact that he was alive had spurred her on. ‘OK, love. I’ll see you later. Soon as I can, all right? Tell your mum for me. Love you.’

‘Love you too, Dad.’

‘Bye.’ He ended the call, stirred the mugs and put them all on a tray to take back into the squad room for his team. They were going to need caffeine.

*

‘Thanks, boss.’

Jane leaned across to take the last of the mugs from Pete. He atood the tray against the end of his desk and sat down.

‘There’s news,’ she said quietly.

‘What?’ Pete looked up, frowning.

Her green eyes locked onto his with a rarely seen intensity. ‘Tommy.’

Pete froze, tension crackling through him. ‘What about him?’

‘The enhanced CCTV’s back from the Co-op where Burton claimed to have dropped Tommy off on the way back into town. Still nothing probative on the car, but the boy in the shop is definitely Tommy and he looks like he’s been through the mill. I had a word with Alan Westbury. He also said that they’ve finally got hold of the assistant from that night. She said he bought plasters and bandages and stuff. Claimed he fell out of a tree. She had her doubts, but she didn’t know him, so what could she do?’

Pete slumped back in his chair, feeling suddenly weak. His son was alive and out there somewhere, just beyond reach. The confirmation was a huge relief, but at the same time utterly depressing. The boy was hurt and alone, God knew where, and too scared to approach anyone. He looked up at Jane. ‘Hold on. You spoke to Alan about this?’

Alan Westbury was one of Simon Phillips’ DCs.

‘Yes. Why not? I was following up on a legitimate lead. Burton’s our case. He admitted dropping Tommy off there. And, according to Rosie, Tommy’s a potential witness.’

‘OK.’ He nodded slowly. ‘But, don’t push your luck on my account, all right? I don’t want you getting into trouble.’

‘Heard back from one of my CIs,’ Dave said. ‘He knows of an Armenian family that’s not exactly squeaky clean. He doesn’t know them, per se, just of them, but it might be a start. I’m going to see him later.’

‘Nice one, Dave. Anyone else got anything?’ He got no response, so checked his watch. ‘OK. If I hurry, I might just catch one of my blokes. Don’t stay up too late, kids. Long day tomorrow.’ He grabbed his jacket and hurried out.

Traffic was already busy on the Heavitree Road when he stepped outside, but he took the car anyway. Working his way around the one-way system, he reached the city centre in about as long as it would have taken him to walk and turned down onto Fore Street. The high, narrow buildings hemmed the street in on either side, telephone lines criss-crossing between them like a scene from a 1970s San Francisco cop show. The shops on the ground floors were closing up, the bars and restaurants opening. Car roofs gleamed under the street lights. The pedestrians on the narrow pavements were thinning out and getting younger, practical dress giving way to decorative as the evening crowd took over.