Okay. The jungle drums have obviously been beating after that piece I did yesterday on the robberies.
Nothing warms the cockles of the heart like the smug self-satisfaction of being right. So whats the word on the street?
I dont know about the street. Im working the stately-home circuit these days, Alexis replied disdainfully. Ive just come off the blower with a punter called Lord James Ballantrae.
Whos he?
Im not entirely sure of all the titles, since Ive not looked him up in Debrett yet, but hes some sort of Scotch baron.
You mean hes in the whiskey trade?
No, soft girl, hes a baron and he comes from Scotland, though youd never know to hear him talk.
So has he been burgled too?
Yeah, but thats not why he rang. Apparently, after he got turned over, he had a chat with some of his blue-blood buddies and found there was a lot of it about, so they got together in a sort of semi-informal network to pool their info and help other rich bastards to avoid the same happening to them. One of them spotted the story I did and told him about it, so he rang me for a chat. Im doing a news feature on him and his gang, about how theyre banding together to foil the robbers. And get this. They call themselves the Nottingham group. She paused expectantly.
I took the bait. It was a small price to pay to keep the wheels of friendship oiled. Go on, tell me. I know youre dying to. Why the Nottingham group?
After the Sheriff of Nottingham. On account of their goal is to stop these robbin hoods from ripping off their wealth to redistribute to the selected poor.
Nice one, I said. You going to give me his number? I copied down Alexiss information and stuck the Post-it note on my phone. Thanks.
Is that it? What about I owe you one? Nobodys ever accused Alexis of being a shrinking violet. I dont. Youre paying me back for your exclusive last night. Okay. You free for lunch?
Doubt it, somehow. What about tonight? Richard and I are going to the multiscreen. Do you two want to join us?
Sorry, weve already booked for Blade Runner at the Cornerhouse.
Typical. Dont forget your Foucault, I said. I was halfway out of my chair, destination coffee machine, when the phone rang again. Suppressing a snarl, I grabbed it and injected a bit of warmth into my voice. Good morning, Kate Brannigan speaking. Its Trevor Kerr here.
I wished I hadnt bothered with the warmth. Hello, Mr. Kerr. What news?
I could ask you the same thing, since Im paying you to investigate this business, he grumbled. Im ringing to let you know that my lab people have come up with some results from the analysis I asked them to carry out.
Not a man to give credit where its due, our Mr. Kerr. I stifled a sigh and said, What did they discover?
A bloody nightmare, thats what. About half the samples they tested arent bloody KerrSter.
Cyanide? I asked, suddenly anxious.
No, nothing like that. Just a mixture of chemicals that wouldnt clean anything. Not only would they not clean things, there are certain surfaces theyd ruin. Anything with a sealed finish like floor tiles or worktops. Bastards! Kerr spat.
Are these common chemicals, or what?
Ever heard of caustic soda? Thats how bloody common were talking here.
So cheap as well as common? I asked.
A lot bloody cheaper than what we put in KerrSter, let me tell you. So what are you going to do about it? he demanded pugnaciously.
Youve got a a copycat, I said, ignoring his belligerence. Either theyre trying to wreck your business or else theyre simply after a quick buck.
Even Id got that far, he said sarcastically. What I want you to do is find these buggers while Ive still got a business left. You hear what Im saying, Miss Brannigan? Find these bastards, or there wont be a pot left to pay you out of.
8
sometimes I wonder how clients managed to go to the bathroom before they hired us. Trevor Kerr was clearly one of those that think once theyve hired you, youre responsible for everything up to and including emptying the wastepaper bins at night. He was adamant that it was down to me to go and see the detectives investigating the death of Joey Morton, the Stockport publican, to inform them that the person who was sabotaging Kerrchems products was probably the one they should be beating up with rubber hoses. Incidentally, never believe the politicians and top coppers who tell you that sort of thing cant happen now all interviews are tape-recorded. There are no tape recorders in police cars or vans, and Ive heard of cases where its taken three hours for a police car to travel two inner-city miles.
I wasnt relishing telling some overworked and overstressed police officer how to run an inquiry. If theres one thing your average cop hates more than becoming the middleman in a domestic, its being put on the right track by a private eye. I was even less thrilled when Kerr told me who the investigating officer was. Detective Inspector Cliff Jackson and I were old sparring partners. The first time one of my cases ended in murder, he was running the show. He hadnt exactly covered himself in glory, twice arresting the wrong person before the real killer had eventually ended up behind bars, largely as a result of some judicious tampering by Mortensen and Branni-gan. Youd think hed have been grateful. Think again.
I drove out to the incident room in Stockport. The one time Id have welcomed being stuck in traffic, I cruised down Stock-port Road without encountering a single red light. My luck was still out to lunch when I arrived at the police station. Jackson was in. I didnt even have to kick my heels while he pretended to be too busy to slot me in right away.
He didnt get up when I was shown into his office. He hadnt changed much: still slim, hair still dark and barbered to within an inch of its life, eyes still hidden behind a pair of tinted prescription lenses. His dress sense hadnt improved any. He wore a white shirt with a heavy emerald green stripe, the sleeves rolled up over his bony elbows. His tie was shiny polyester, in a shade of green that screamed for mercy against the shirt. I wasnt expecting to see you again, he greeted me ungraciously.
Nice to see you too, Inspector, I said pleasantly. But lets not waste our time on pleasantries. I wanted to talk to you about Joey Mortons death.
I see, he said. Go on, then, talk.
I told him all he needed to know. So you see, I concluded, it looks like someone had got it in for Kerrchem, and Joey Morton just got in the way.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose in a familiar gesture. It didnt erase the frown hed had since I first walked through the door. Very interesting, Miss Brannigan, he said. I take it youre planning to pursue your own inquiries along these lines?
Its what Im paid to do, I said.
This is a possible murder inquiry, he said sententiously. Theres no place for you poking round in it.
Inspector, in case youve forgotten, it was me that came to you. Im trying to be helpful, I said, forcing my jaw to unclench.
And your help is duly noted, he said. Its our job now. If you interfere with this investigation like you did the last time, Ill have no hesitation in arresting you. Is that clear?
I stood up. I know five foot three isnt exactly intimidating, but it made me feel better. Ill do my job, Inspector. And when Ive done it, Ill tell you where you can find your killer.
I tried to slam the door behind me, but it had one of those hydraulic arms. Instead of a satisfying crash, I ended up with a twisted wrist. I was still fizzing when I got back to the car, so I decided to kill two birds with one stone. Down at the Thai boxing gym, I could work out my rage and frustration and, with a bit of luck, acquire some information too.
I like the gym. Its a no-frills establishment, which means I tend not to run into clients there. As well as the boxing gym, its got a weight room and basic changing facilities. The only drawback is that there are never enough showers at busy times. Judging by the number of open lockers, that wasnt going to be a problem today. I emerged from the womens changing room in the breeze-block drill hall to find my mate Dennis OBrien lounging in a directors chair in his sweats. He was reading the Chronicle, his mobile phone, cigarettes and a mug of tea strategically placed on the floor by his feet. Dennis used to be a serious burglar, the kind who turn over the vulgar suburban houses of the nouveau riche. But it all came on top for him when a young lad hed brought in to help him with a big job managed to drop the safe on Denniss leg as they were making their getaway. He left Dennis lying on the drive with a broken ankle. By the time the cops arrived, hed crawled half a mile. When he got out of prison three years later, he swore he was never going to do anything that would get him taken away from his kids again. As far as I know, hes kept his word, with one exception. The lad who abandoned him still walks with a limp.
It was Dennis who got me into Thai boxing. He believes all women should have self-defense skills, and when he discovered Id been relying on nothing more than charm and a reasonable turn of speed, hed dragged me down to the gym. His daughters been a finalist in the national championships for the last three years running, and he lets her beat me up on a regular basis, just to remind me that there are people out there who could cause me serious damage. As if I needed reminding after some of the shit Ive been through in recent years.
Now hes out of major-league villainy and into a bit of this, a bit of that, a bit of ducking and diving, Dennis has taken to using the gym as his corporate headquarters. I dont suppose the management mind. All the locals know Denniss draconian views on drugs, so his presence keeps the gym clear of steroid abuse. And there are never any fights outside the ring. Hes not known in South Manchester as Dennis the Menace for nothing.
I checked out a couple of black lads working the heavy bags at the far end of the room. They were too far away to overhear. Your backside will start looking like Richards car if you carry on like that, I said, smiling over the top of his paper.
At last, someone worth sparring with, Dennis said, bouncing to his feet. Hows it hanging, kid?
By a fingernail, I said, bending over to start my warm-up exercises. What do you know? I glanced over at Dennis, who was mirroring my movements.