No Time to Die_a thrilling CSI mystery Read online

  Eddie waved as he walked but had made it no more than thirty yards when a besuited woman coughed in front of him. He looked up, saw the figure, saw the chest and then saw the eyes. They were great eyes, but the chest was better.

  ‘He was a policeman, wasn’t he?’

  She had a voice to match her looks too, he thought, heavenly like a slow drink of Grand Marnier that trickles down your throat. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Kelly Moran,’ she said, ‘BBC.’

  For a second, he’d expected her to say Jilly… Don’t know why, it just seemed natural. And Jilly? Now there was a name to add a cloud to the brightest of days. Eddie looked down and walked on. ‘Sorry, can’t help,’ he said, her soft voice and wonderful figure already forgotten, already replaced by a slightly harsher voice and a face full of mischief, full of beauty and wonderment. Eddie walked across the road, feeling more than a little dejected, and was almost hit by some arsehole in a Corsa; probably more CID. You could never have too many CID when some shit like this kicked off. It added to the pandemonium; was quite entertaining, actually. He got in the car and slammed the door.

  All it took was something innocent like that to set him off again, to set him back months again; just a name, maybe even a smell of her perfume or the way a woman might smile – anything could instantly propel him back to his life before, as a husband to Jilly and a father to Sammy. It was an old life, long gone now.

  There was a knock on his window, and he looked up to see the BBC woman again. He started the engine and then wound down the window. Stared at her.

  She saw his dampened eyes and appeared genuinely upset for him. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Was he a friend of yours?’

  ‘I’m no one’s friend,’ he muttered as he drove away.

  9

  — One —

  In the reception hall was a semi-circular desk with the force crest in a subtle 3D design discreetly lit from above. Below the crest, it said, Major Crime Unit & Crime Division. DCI Lisa Westmoreland signed in, went through a set of double doors and took the stairs to the first floor, and into the main office. She nodded a “good morning” to the admin people, walked by her own office and headed straight for Cooper’s. Cooper was waiting for her, closed the door after her.

  ‘Coffee?’

  Westmoreland shook her head and sat down in one of two small armchairs separated by a circular table. ‘Definitely suicide, is it?’

  Cooper shrugged. ‘He was found by a neighbour.’ He closed his old man’s eyes and dropped into his own seat behind an empty teak-effect desk. ‘This could fuck up two years’ work.’

  ‘Local CSI are already on it so I’ve sent my CSI out there to take over. We’ll soon know if it really is a suicide. I can’t spare more than one right now–’

  ‘Better hope it is. A suicide, I mean.’

  ‘I presume he had family?’

  Cooper nodded. ‘A wife. No kids. She miscarried a week ago.’ He looked at Westmoreland and said, ‘Even if it’s not suicide, we tell everyone it is until I can contact the others.’

  ‘Where’s the wife?’

  ‘Not heard anything about her yet. I just hope… Well, right now, I don’t know what to hope.’

  ‘How many others are out there?’

  Cooper shook his head, almost imperceptibly.

  ‘I have to know, Francis. If you want me to help you then you’re going to have to start sharing.’

  ‘I can’t–’

  ‘Bollocks. Share or I pull my people off it right now, and you can go cap in hand to Serious Organised Crime, see if they can spare a scene examiner. Or let the locals back in there. And I guarantee it’ll be in the media within–’

  ‘Eight. Three of them deep.’

  ‘How come he was at home? On leave, what?’

  ‘Look, there are some things I’d rather keep–’

  ‘You pulled him in, didn’t you?’

  Cooper sighed. ‘He was stressed out. Because of the miscarriage. He took his eye off the ball, got slack.’

  Westmoreland raised her eyebrows.

  ‘And I swear, Lisa, if any of this gets out–’

  ‘What do you take me for–’

  ‘If any of it gets out, I go to the ACC with details of this meeting.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ She could see Cooper was stressed out too. Operations like this could turn you sour; and if things started to go wrong – unplanned things, like miscarriages – then it could put lives at risk. Then the whole game of cops and robbers turned really nasty. ‘Things like that have a habit of screwing with people’s brains, so maybe chance is on your side; it most likely is suicide.’

  ‘I hope it is. He was well inside a Leeds crew, and they’re not renowned for being pleasant with people who’ve crossed them.’

  ‘Have you got suppression orders in place?’

  ‘First thing this morning. Even if it is a suicide, if the press shows a picture of him on the news, it’ll spook the crew – they’ll know we had someone on the inside.’

  Lisa shuffled in her chair; she felt uncomfortable with this. All this cloak and dagger stuff wasn’t in her job description. Of course she had secrets, anyone in her rank had, but playing about with publicity versus playing inside gangs that weren’t averse to heavy violence was a tough act to balance, especially when there were policies and procedures and laws on disclosure to bear in mind. Especially when there were real people, people with families, to bear in mind too. ‘I can see you’re twitchy, but you have thought about getting the others out until you know for sure this is a suicide?’

  ‘Of course I’ve thought about it. Can’t do it, though. There’s more work still to be done–’

  ‘But you might–’

  ‘The pisser, the real pisser about all of this is that I had a missed call from him last night. I always keep my phone switched on and near me. Always. But I put it on silent last night.’

  ‘Why?’

  He sighed. ‘Can you believe I went to the flicks?’ He looked almost ashamed. ‘Of all the nights to have a fucking social life…’

  ‘Your call, but you should make them aware at least.’

  ‘My boys stay out there until I say so.’ Cooper looked at the clock ticking on the wall above Westmoreland’s head. It was the only feature; nothing else broke up the monotony of magnolia walls. ‘I have to know one way or the other as quickly as possible, Lisa. And whoever examines that scene has to be 100 percent sure.’

  — Two —

  Westmoreland made the call to DI Taylor from her own office. ‘Alan, it’s me. Keep everything close to your chest, but I want you to get down to the Alwoodley scene now and make an assessment for Cooper.’

  Taylor sat up in his chair. ‘What kind of assessment?’

  ‘I need to know the cause of death.’

  ‘I thought it was a suicide.’

  ‘It needs confirming. Urgently, please.’

  ‘I’ll ring the CSI.’

  ‘No, don’t ring him; go see him. I want accuracy, no Chinese whispers. And take Jeffery with you to interpret the findings. Now.’ Westmoreland hung up.

  — Three —

  They turned into the estate, drove around a BBC outside broadcast van and almost collided with a man crossing the street with his head down, shoulders slumped. Following him was a well-dressed woman. Jeffery slowed, peered in the mirror and saw the man. It was Eddie Collins, he was sure of it. Looked like he was talking to the press. Jeffery mumbled something under his breath.

  He found a spot to park in and cut the engine. ‘I don’t see what’s so important about this job.’ Jeffery unbuckled and looked across at DI Taylor.

  ‘Is that a question?’

  ‘It’s a suicide. And yes,’ he said, ‘it’s a police officer. Regrettable, I admit. But I don’t see the significance of a trip down here when James is perfectly–’

  ‘I can’t say too much. I need to know for Cooper.’ He climbed out of the car and left Jeffery staring blank-faced at the steering w
heel as though expecting it to perform a trick.

  Together, they walked to the cordon, spoke to the PCSO and awaited James Whitely.

  ‘Our Cooper? Crime Division Cooper?’

  Taylor nodded.

  ‘This one of his lads, then?’

  Taylor turned to Jeffery. ‘It is.’ He frowned. ‘Please, no more questions.’

  Whitely came down the driveway to meet them, walking from the shade into the sunlight, squinting like a pit pony freshly released. ‘Jeffery,’ he nodded. ‘Mr Taylor.’

  ‘How far have you got, James?’

  ‘I’m still on with the photography. Is there a problem?’ He looked from one to the other.

  Jeffery came in closer, stretching the scene tape, and whispered, ‘Is it a suicide? That’s what we need to know.’

  James bit his bottom lip. ‘I thought it was.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘I took over from a CSI called Collins. He’s convinced it’s a murder.’

  Taylor and Jeffery looked at each other. ‘Why?’

  ‘I was going to ring you, but Eddie Collins just came back to offer some help.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘It’s not a suicide. It’s a murder. In fact, it’s a double murder; his wife is in the bedroom, asphyxiated.’

  ‘Fuck,’ Taylor said.

  ‘Why is he so convinced?’

  ‘You want to come in? I could show you.’

  ‘No,’ Jeffery said, impatience gathering, ‘just tell us, will you?’

  — Four —

  Jeffery thanked Chris, pressed end and dropped the phone into his jacket pocket. He shook his head and then wondered why he was surprised by anything Eddie Collins did these days. Once through the doors of the Major Crime Unit, Jeffery and Taylor headed straight for Westmoreland’s office, knocked and entered, then closed the door.

  Westmoreland asked, ‘How well do you know this Collins?’

  Jeffery took a deep breath and exhaled a long sigh. ‘Well enough.’

  ‘And? Jesus, why is everything like pulling teeth today?’

  ‘He’s an alcoholic. Or at least he was the last time I worked with him. A leopard never changes its spots, they say.’

  ‘That it? He’s an alky?’

  ‘As we pulled up to the scene, I thought I saw him. A reporter was following him across the road.’

  Westmoreland stared.

  Jeffery shrugged. ‘I don’t know if he was talking to her or not.’

  ‘I’ll have him in court if he’s said anything.’ She stared at the carpet, bit her lower lip and then asked, ‘Apart from that?’

  ‘You want to know if what he told James Whitely makes any sense, don’t you?’

  ‘Well, of course I bloody do.’

  ‘Yes, it makes sense. And Eddie Collins is just about the best crime scene examiner in West Yorkshire. He has a knack, an eye for detail that no one else does.’

  ‘You still sound doubtful of him?’

  ‘I’m just wary of him, that’s all. He’s got a temper, and he’s not good at taking instructions.’

  Westmoreland smiled. ‘All artists are extreme, Jeffery. But it shows some kind of dedication if he’s prepared to come back to a scene he’s been unceremoniously released from to make sure it’s done correctly after he’s resigned.’ She thought about her words. ‘Passion.’

  And Jeffery thought about them too. He wondered why Collins had given in his notice and then just picked up his coat and left. Chris at the CSI office was unable to shed any real light on it, citing Collins’s dismay at statistics and examination times as the main reason. But Jeffery suspected Peter McCain was high on Eddie’s list of reasons too. ‘I wouldn’t place too much weight on his abilities in this case, though; James would have worked it out soon enough.’

  ‘I don’t share your optimism, Jeffery. Sounds to me as though Collins convinced him it was a double murder. And people tend not to have open eyes about things, let alone open minds.’

  Jeffery looked away, knowing the “open minds” remark was aimed at him directly.

  ‘Okay, I need to see Cooper with the bad news. And while I do that, I want you to contact the CSI office again. Find out Eddie Collins’s address.’

  Jeffery raised his eyebrows. ‘Why?’

  ‘I want him.’

  ‘I beg your pardon!’

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘There are a lot of people in the main office out there and in Crime Division who used to work with him, and–’

  ‘Benson, you mean? Ruffled his feathers a bit, did he?’

  ‘There was a big falling out a couple of years ago, and it was more than feather-ruffling. There’ll be hell to pay if you bring him here.’

  ‘No, there won’t. If I want him, he comes; Benson – and whoever else you’re referring to – had better put the past behind them. I know what happened back then, but if people had done their jobs correctly, a lot of nastiness could have been avoided. And yes, before you ask, I’m talking about Benson and his demotion.’

  ‘But there’s–’

  ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go and see Cooper.’

  Jeffery cleared his throat. ‘It’s my decision who is employed as an CSI, Lisa, not yours.’

  ‘Then make the decision to hire him. Right, Jeffery?’

  ‘What about following procedure? What about advertising the post?’

  Westmoreland moved closer. ‘We have a vacancy, don’t we?’

  ‘Yes, but–’

  ‘Advertising and interviewing…two months, minimum. You happy with that? Will your overworked staff be happy with that?’

  ‘I know all that–’

  ‘And when we follow procedure, human resources give you someone like James Whitely. Don’t they?’

  ‘He has potential.’

  ‘Potential is good. For the future. Right now, we need experience.’

  Jeffrey sighed. Game over.

  ‘Just do it. Please.’

  — Five —

  When Westmoreland left, Cooper sat back in his chair, one leg perched on the top of his desk, a certain resignation creeping through his body.

  He wondered if this was the beginning of the end of the operation. Tony Lambert had been a massive source of information concerning Slade Crosby and his Chapeltown gang. Everything from dates and times of jobs to snippets of intelligence he’d gathered about the other Leeds crews. He had been in among them for nine months and was well trusted.

  Cooper had pulled Tony out of the crew last week, on the pretence of a family tragedy in Ireland, just so he could be at home with his wife, who naturally was feeling depressed about the miscarriage. Depending on how quickly Tony resurfaced, he had every intention of sliding him back into the crew to resume his duties.

  It seemed as though the crew had other ideas, though.

  Somehow, they’d found out he was a police officer. Somehow, they’d found out where he lived. And then they’d killed him and his wife. It sent a message: it said they had become brave these days, it said they didn’t tolerate this underhand way of prosecuting them for illegal activities.

  The most startling thing was they had disguised it as suicide. They hadn’t gone in there and shot Tony and his wife or just bludgeoned them to death. They’d thought it through, kept scene disturbance to a minimum, trying to deflect suspicion away from murder. ‘Why?’ he whispered to the empty office.

  The obvious answer was that the police would begin looking for the murderer in the Crosby gang. And gangs these days knew the police granted them a certain amount of latitude. Not a stalemate as such, more of an unofficial status quo: we’ll leave you to do your stuff so long as it isn’t child sex offences or terrorism, but step over this invisible line and we’ll have to call on you. Sorry. That’s how it was these days: a battle for psychological territory.

  But a gang who capped an officer and his wife and didn’t sufficiently cover their tracks were going to collect a heap of shit from the law. One thing the polic
e were famous for was looking after their own when tragedy struck. They would pursue the responsible gang relentlessly; there would be zero tolerance (a term Cooper detested, but it had its place), and their activities would be shut down.

  So why didn’t the police do that anyway? Because another gang, one foreign to the neighbourhood, one that didn’t know the very personal culture of the district, might step in and take control. And then the police would be right back to square one – no intelligence on anyone. There would also be a period of elevated violence that would negatively affect residents and businesses – very bad for stats and satisfaction survey results.

  And to hound a gang as endemic as the Crosbys, who’d leached into the community, would prove fantastically resource-heavy and time consuming. But Slade Crosby had overstepped that mark, that invisible line.

  Cooper slid his leg off the desk and sat forward in his chair, elbows on the desk, head in hands. This was turning into a very difficult situation for him. He had a hand to play, and he had good cards too; but he couldn’t afford for the gang to think they’d won.

  The slaying of a copper and his wife was wonderful underground PR for the gang, a real status boost. If Tony’s picture went public, and the press reported the event as a double murder, the gang would see it. They’d know their attempt at disguising it as murder-suicide had failed, and they’d try to cover their tracks. And that’s when things would become dangerous for all other police officers, covert and overt. Play those cards close to your chest, he thought, and the gang remains unaware of our progress, and they leave themselves open to arrest.

  But arrests would be later, much later. For now, Cooper wanted to concentrate on the big event, and pursuing those responsible for Tony’s death had become an integral part of that effort. Slade Crosby’s days were numbered.

  Cooper was beginning to think that Benson might be right, that any way to take Crosby down was acceptable. Any way at all.

  10

  He had thought of stopping at the graveyard on his way home; it wasn’t really out of the way. And sometimes, it helped, to talk to her and to little Sam. He didn’t know why, but sometimes, it made things clearer; and sometimes, it made it harder to forget them both.