Crack Down

‘You didn’t check it out when you bought it? Look to see if there was a spare wheel and a jack?’ Ruth asked.

‘The salesman showed us when we took it for a test drive,’ I interjected. ‘I certainly don’t remember Richard ever going near it.’

He managed a grin. ‘We didn’t have it long enough for Brannigan to take it shopping, so we didn’t need the boot.’

‘Good,’ Ruth said. ‘This carrier bag that they produced from the boot. Had you ever seen it before?’

Richard shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t know. It was just an ordinary Sainsbury’s carrier bag. Brannigan’s got a drawer full of them. There was nothing about it to make it any different from any other one. But it wasn’t in the boot when that rattlesnake showed us the car on Monday. And I didn’t put it there. So I guess it’s fair to say I’d never seen it before.’

‘Did you touch it at all?’

‘How could I? I said, I’d never seen it before,’ Richard said plaintively.

‘The officer didn’t throw it to you, or hand it to you?’ Ruth persisted.

‘He couldn’t, could he? His oppo had me cuffed already,’ Richard replied.

‘Yes, I’m a little surprised at that. Had you put up a struggle? Or had you perhaps been a little over-energetic in the verbal department?’ Ruth asked carefully.

‘Well, I wasn’t exactly thrilled at being bodily dragged out of what was, technically, my own motor when I hadn’t even been speeding and I’d been on the Diet Coke all night. So I suppose I was a bit gobby,’ Richard admitted. If my heart could have sunk any further, it would have done. Add resisting arrest to the list, I thought gloomily.

Ruth was clearly as cheered as I was by this news. ‘But you didn’t actually offer any physical violence?’ she asked, the hope in her voice as obvious as a City supporter in a United bus.

‘No,’ Richard said indignantly. ‘What do you take me for?’

Diplomatically, neither of us answered. ‘The keys for this coupé – did you have both sets?’

Richard shook his head. ‘No, Brannigan had the others.’

‘Have you still got them?’ she asked me.

I nodded. ‘They’re in the kitchen drawer. No one but the two of us has had access to them.’

‘Good,’ Ruth said. ‘These two women you were with – can you give me their names and addresses? I’ll need statements from them to show you were talking about their record contract, rather than sitting in some dark corner negotiating a drug deal.’

‘You’re not going to like this,’ Richard predicted. Correctly, as it turned out. ‘I only know their stage names. Lilith Annsdaughter and Eve Uhuru. I don’t have any addresses for them, just a phone number. It’s in my notebook, but the boys in blue have taken that off me. Sorry.’ He tried a smile, but the magic didn’t work on either of us.

Ruth showed her first real sign of tiredness. Her eyes closed momentarily and her shoulders dropped. ‘Leave that with me,’ she said, her voice little stronger than a sigh. Then she took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and pulled a packet of extra-long menthol cigarettes out of her briefcase. She offered them round, but got no takers. ‘Do you suppose this counts as Thursday’s eleventh or Friday’s first?’ she asked. ‘Either way, it’s against the rules.’ She lit the cigarette, surprisingly, with a match torn from a restaurant matchbook. I’d have had Ruth marked down as a Dunhill lighter.

‘One more thing,’ Ruth said. ‘You’ve got a son, haven’t you, Richard?’

Richard frowned, puzzled. ‘Yeah. Davy. Why?’

‘What does he look like?’

‘Why do you want to know that?’ Richard asked. I was glad he had; it saved me the bother.

‘According to the custody sergeant, when the officers searched the car more thoroughly, they found a Polaroid photograph that had slid down the side of the rear seat. It shows a young boy.’ Ruth took a deep breath. ‘In a rather unpleasant pose. I think they’re going to want to ask some questions about that too.’

‘How do you mean, a rather unpleasant pose?’ I demanded.

‘He’s stripped down to his underpants and handcuffed to a bed,’ Ruth said.

Richard looked thunderstruck. I knew just how he felt. ‘And you think that’s got something to do with me?’ he gasped, outraged.

‘The police might,’ Ruth said.

‘It couldn’t be anything to do with us,’ I butted in. ‘Neither of us has been in the back seat since we got the car. The only person who’d been in the back seat that I know of is the salesman, on the test drive.’

‘OK, OK,’ Ruth said. ‘Calm down. All I was thinking is that the photograph might possibly have an innocent explanation, and that it might have been your son.’

‘So what does this kid look like?’ Richard said belligerently.

‘I’d say about ten, dark wavy hair, skinny.’

Richard let out a sigh. ‘Well, you can count Davy out. He’s only eight, average size for his age, and his hair’s straight like mine, and the same colour. Light brown.’ The colour of butterscotch, to be precise.

‘Fine. I’m glad we’ve cleared that up,’ Ruth said. ‘Any questions, Kate?’

I nodded. Not that I had any hopes of a useful answer. ‘Richard, when you were in Manto’s, did you see anyone you recognized from the club the other night? Anyone a bit flash, a bit hooky, the type that just might have nicked the motor?’

Richard screwed up his eyes in concentration. Then he shook his head. ‘You know me, Brannigan. I don’t go places to look at the punters,’ he said apologetically.

‘Did you do a number on anybody about the car?’

‘I didn’t mention it to a soul. I’d just have looked a dick-head next week, back with my usual wheels,’ he said, with rare insight.

‘I don’t suppose you know who’s doing the heavy-duty stuff round town these days?’

Richard leaned forward and stared into my eyes. I could feel his fear. ‘I’ve got no interest,’ he said, his face tense. ‘I bend over backwards to avoid taking any interest. Look, you know how much time I spend in the Moss and Cheetham Hill with new bands. Everybody knows I’m a journo. If I showed the slightest interest in the gangs and the drugs, I’d be a dead man, blown away on the steps of some newspaper office as a warning to other hacks not to get any daft ideas in their heads about running a campaign to clean up Manchester. You ask Alexis. She’s supposed to be the crime correspondent. You ask her the last time there was a heavy incident in Moss Side or Cheetham Hill where she did anything more than toddle along to the police press conference! Believe me, if I thought for one minute that the gang that owns these drugs knows it was me that drove off with them, I’d be begging for protective custody a long, long way from Manchester. No, Brannigan, I do not know who’s doing the heavy stuff, and for the sake of both our healths, I suggest that you remain in the same blissful state.’

I shrugged. ‘You want to walk away from this? The only way you’re going to do that is if we give them a body to trade,’ I turned to Ruth. ‘Am I right?’

‘Regardless of that, you’re probably going to have to spend another few days in police custody,’ Ruth warned him.

Richard’s face fell. ‘Is there no way you can get me out sooner? I’ve got to get out of here, double urgent,’ he said.

‘Richard, in my opinion, the police will charge you with possession of a Class A drug with intent to supply, which is not a charge on which magistrates are inclined to allow bail. I’ll do my best, but the chances are heavily stacked against us. Sorry about that, but there we go.’ Ruth paused to savour a last mouthful of smoke before regretfully stubbing out her cigarette.

‘Oh, shit,’ Richard said. He took off his glasses and carefully polished them on his paisley silk shirt. He sighed. ‘I suppose I’ll have to go for it. But there’s one slight problem I haven’t mentioned that Brannigan seems to have forgotten about,’ he said sheepishly, looking short-sightedly in my direction.

My turn to sigh. ‘Give,’ I said.

‘Davy’s due on the seven o’clock shuttle tonight. Remember? Half-term?’

As his words sank in, I got to my feet, shaking my head. ‘Oh no, no way. Not me.’

‘Please,’ Richard said. ‘You know how much it means to me.’