No Place to Hide

‘But you know who does know him, who has seen him.’

‘You want me to give you a dealer?’

‘We both know they’re ten a penny. You’d just replace him with another. Allegedly.’

‘I am not the man you think I am,’ Petrosyan said stubbornly.

‘OK. I’ll just go back to the station and get onto that press release then. Let our killer help us clean up the streets a bit more before we take him off them. Have a good day, Mr Petrosyan.’ He saw the doubt flash in the Armenian’s eyes as he nodded to the others to back off, let him go. But Petrosyan had face to save. Scowling, he walked doggedly away.

Pete and his crew came together on the narrow forecourt behind the retreating figure.

‘He knows,’ Dave said.

‘Of course he does,’ Pete agreed. ‘But he can’t be seen to back down to us, can he? His reputation could get ruined. And then his hold on his organisation would be gone.’

‘You reckon we’ll hear from him, though?’ asked Jane.

‘One way or another. Might be worth getting a tap on his phone, though.’

‘With the protection he’s got?’ Dave snorted. ‘Fat chance.’

‘So, we’re just going to leave him out here as bait?’ asked Dick.

‘Why? You feeling sorry for him?’ Dave countered.

‘No, but it does seem a bit . . .’

The low sun flashed on Jane’s ginger hair as she swept it back with one hand. ‘Harsh? Unethical? What do you think about what he does for a living, then? Pushing poison to our kids.’

‘I know, but . . . They have a choice, whether to get into it or not.’

‘So did he. And he had a choice of whether to talk to us or not,’ Pete said firmly.

CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_65109580-33ff-5083-ace6-83d296700807)

Pete waited until they were all back in their cars, then took out his mobile and dialled.

‘Jane. We might not be able to put a tap on his phone, but I want surveillance on that bloke, from now on. I want to know who visits him or where he goes if he leaves the house. Get hold of Jill and Sophie Clewes. I’ll clear it with the uniform squad. And don’t let either of them tell anyone what they’re up to.’

‘You seriously think he’s got a source on the force?’

‘He’s still walking the streets, isn’t he? I don’t know what he’s got, but I’m not prepared to risk losing him at this stage so, bearing in mind his paranoia, be careful setting this up, right?’

‘Right, boss.’

He ended the call and dialled the station. ‘Bill, who’s the duty sergeant today?’

‘Andy Fairweather.’

‘Patch me through to him, would you?’

‘OK.’ There was a click, a pause, then a dialling tone. A phone was picked up. ‘Sergeant Fairweather, Exeter Police.’

‘Andy. Pete Gayle. Sorry for the short notice, mate, but I need to borrow Constable Clewes again.’

‘How long for?’

‘Not sure yet. Probably just today. Assistance with a surveillance op.’

‘All right. I’ll adjust the rota and get hold of her. Where should I send her?’

‘That’s OK. My DC will give her a call.’

‘Fair enough.’ Fairweather didn’t sound too happy at being kept out of whatever was going on, but Pete couldn’t afford to be oversensitive now.

‘Thanks, Andy. I owe you one.’

‘Another one.’

Pete nodded. ‘Yeah, I know. I’ll return the favour one day, if only by sending Fast-track on his way to an early grave with stress.’

‘You won’t stress that bugger. Cast iron, he’s made of.’

‘Damn brittle, that stuff, though.’

Andy laughed. ‘Good luck then.’

‘See you.’

Pete started his car and headed back to the station.

He pulled into the car park just moments behind Dick Feeney and Dave Miles. They were heading for the back door as he stepped out of his car. ‘Oi,’ he called.

Both men turned and Pete beckoned them across with a tilt of his head. They gathered beside Pete’s car.

‘Before we go inside,’ he said, ‘you realise that what we’ve done this morning could flush out Petrosyan’s contact here?’

‘Yeah,’ Dave said. ‘Or it could just make him run like a scared rabbit.’

‘Jane’s setting up covert observation on Petrosyan. Nobody outside of us and those directly involved is to know about it. I just told Andy Fairweather I needed someone for a surveillance op.’

‘OK.’ Dave nodded.

‘I don’t like this,’ said Dick. ‘Looking into our own oppos. It feels wrong.’

‘If you’re not comfortable with it, Dick . . .’

Feeney grimaced. ‘It just seems creepy, that’s all – that one of the guys is . . . well, bent.’