fucking about, you know, as you do. Everyone was pissed and the old bill aren’t exactly top of the pops in there, you know? They just felt like they’d got one over on you, seeing Terry get away, and so they were gloating. Quad – the first bloke you flattened – he’s a fucking head case. He came in looking for trouble when word got to him the fil-,’ he caught himself again, ‘that the law had been in. But you sorted him and we didn’t even know them kids who went for you. They must have followed you in, they weren’t even with us, but you fucked them up no problem. No harm done, eh?’
‘You reckon?’ said North looking at the pub. ‘Are you going to come assist us with our enquiries voluntarily?’
‘I haven’t done nothing!’
‘Then you have nothing to hide.’
North got one of the PC’s to take him in and then come back for his mate who would begin looking for any other possible witnesses to the runners.
He got back in the car.
‘You think he knows anything?’ asked Deacon who’d been a bystander.
‘I don’t know. Maybe. Mason can find out.’
North called him with the details so he could start checking him out before Smith got there.
‘I don’t think he knows much,’ he said to Deacon, ‘and after all this he will probably give a wildly inaccurate description of the guy who collected Rawlins.’
‘The drug set-up at Denise Lumsden’s and her death, those syringes, now this, do you think that this could all be the start of a drugs war? A rival outfit wants another lot out, so they kill one of their dealers, make a horror show of it, then burn down their storehouse. Rawlins could just be some schmuck that got let out of jail at the wrong time and fetched up in the middle of it all?’
‘Not just a lucky charm, eh, Deacon?’
‘Don’t take the piss.’
‘I’m not.’ He wasn’t. ‘You could be right. All we can do is work with what we have and see what starts to materialise, but I don’t believe people like Rawlins just fetch up in the middle of stuff willy-nilly, as our Mr Smith would say. He might not know much but whoever he called does and that’s why I believe that they want Rawlins out of the picture. To break the connection. He’s our conduit to them.
‘And I have a problem with the way Denise Lumsden was killed, it just doesn’t sit right with me. If she was hit professionally they would have just killed her and stuck the needles in as their showpiece, they wouldn’t want to be hanging around any longer than they had too. The autopsy may prove me wrong, but it looked like someone had spent some time with her. It looked like a sadistic psychopath had been getting his jollies with her - but then why the syringes? And why all this other, subsequent shit? It’s a strange one.
‘James is looking into other possible cases around the country, old cases around here, that bear similarities to Lumsden’s. You never know. Right now we just don’t have enough information for any of this to make any sense and now we have gang members involved. Two Choirboys attacked me in there last night and we have a possibility that another two of them set light to the pub.’
‘It might have been the same two: pride, hatred and testosterone are a highly flammable mix. These kids are stabbing each other over a wrong look, the wrong girl, the wrong street - they’ve lost all sense of perspective. They could have torched the place just because you beat the crap out of them in front of everyone in it.’
‘The arson should at least help with the warrant for the pub’s phone records. How come we weren’t made aware of this already, anyway?’ He looked back at the burnt out pub. ‘The people we’re after have got better communication than this.’
‘The guys said they didn’t know it was related to our case. They were already out on duty when you gave everyone the brief. This kind of thing isn’t that uncommon. Last week Al - the PC with me at Lumsden’s yesterday - he
‘You reckon?’ said North looking at the pub. ‘Are you going to come assist us with our enquiries voluntarily?’
‘I haven’t done nothing!’
‘Then you have nothing to hide.’
North got one of the PC’s to take him in and then come back for his mate who would begin looking for any other possible witnesses to the runners.
He got back in the car.
‘You think he knows anything?’ asked Deacon who’d been a bystander.
‘I don’t know. Maybe. Mason can find out.’
North called him with the details so he could start checking him out before Smith got there.
‘I don’t think he knows much,’ he said to Deacon, ‘and after all this he will probably give a wildly inaccurate description of the guy who collected Rawlins.’
‘The drug set-up at Denise Lumsden’s and her death, those syringes, now this, do you think that this could all be the start of a drugs war? A rival outfit wants another lot out, so they kill one of their dealers, make a horror show of it, then burn down their storehouse. Rawlins could just be some schmuck that got let out of jail at the wrong time and fetched up in the middle of it all?’
‘Not just a lucky charm, eh, Deacon?’
‘Don’t take the piss.’
‘I’m not.’ He wasn’t. ‘You could be right. All we can do is work with what we have and see what starts to materialise, but I don’t believe people like Rawlins just fetch up in the middle of stuff willy-nilly, as our Mr Smith would say. He might not know much but whoever he called does and that’s why I believe that they want Rawlins out of the picture. To break the connection. He’s our conduit to them.
‘And I have a problem with the way Denise Lumsden was killed, it just doesn’t sit right with me. If she was hit professionally they would have just killed her and stuck the needles in as their showpiece, they wouldn’t want to be hanging around any longer than they had too. The autopsy may prove me wrong, but it looked like someone had spent some time with her. It looked like a sadistic psychopath had been getting his jollies with her - but then why the syringes? And why all this other, subsequent shit? It’s a strange one.
‘James is looking into other possible cases around the country, old cases around here, that bear similarities to Lumsden’s. You never know. Right now we just don’t have enough information for any of this to make any sense and now we have gang members involved. Two Choirboys attacked me in there last night and we have a possibility that another two of them set light to the pub.’
‘It might have been the same two: pride, hatred and testosterone are a highly flammable mix. These kids are stabbing each other over a wrong look, the wrong girl, the wrong street - they’ve lost all sense of perspective. They could have torched the place just because you beat the crap out of them in front of everyone in it.’
‘The arson should at least help with the warrant for the pub’s phone records. How come we weren’t made aware of this already, anyway?’ He looked back at the burnt out pub. ‘The people we’re after have got better communication than this.’
‘The guys said they didn’t know it was related to our case. They were already out on duty when you gave everyone the brief. This kind of thing isn’t that uncommon. Last week Al - the PC with me at Lumsden’s yesterday - he
Similar Books
