Marked men, p.16
Marked Men, page 16
‘Why do you say that?’ asked Magda.
‘The paper was talking about a possible organized crime connection. Surely you don’t need me to tell you about Anthony Brown’s illustrious career?’
‘He is known to us, yes. Were there indications he was … heading for that type of life while at school?’
‘I had no doubts he was a bully. Would have done very well as hired muscle, as they say on the telly. But if I had to pick any of them as having the potential – in the sense of being a career criminal – it actually would have been Carl Parker. There was a sly intelligence to that one. Very deceitful and very quick with his lies. Cruel, too, I suspect. I can’t say I found much in him to like.’
‘Can you think of any reason why Brown or Parker would want Goodwin and Nordern dead?’ Sean asked.
‘Not unless you count petty playground stuff. Throwing each other’s bags in the bushes … sorry, I don’t mean to make light of this. Not based on my experience as their head teacher, no.’
‘Did any of them show any promise academically?’
‘Not really. Actually, that’s not strictly true. Nick McGhee, as I recall, was hoping to enter further education. He had his heart set on art college. Photography? Graphic design, maybe. Academically, he was … he could have made something of himself. The rest? Nope.’
Sean frowned. ‘Did McGhee not stay on at Belle Vue High School?’
‘No. His parents moved him. I think to the north of the city, but I’m not certain on that.’
‘What about Kevin Rowe? How did he fit in?’
‘Rowe? A bit of a rogue. Good at sport. There was always a twinkle in his eye, I’d say he probably went along with things rather than instigated them. If you’re looking at the driver of the group, it would have to be Parker, with backing from Brown.’
‘That’s very interesting, Mr Davis, thank you,’ Magda announced. ‘Please hold the line one moment.’ She pressed the mute button and looked at Sean. ‘I still think our first priority is Jordan Hughes. Let’s get back to the office and see what the PNC has on him. My guess is he’ll have a record to be proud of.’
Sean nodded his agreement.
‘Anything more for Mr Davis?’
‘Can’t think of anything.’
She opened the line-up. ‘Mr Davis? Thanks again. There’s a chance we might need to call you back at some point. .’
‘Anytime. If I’m not walking the dog, I’ll probably be in here.’
After cutting the call, Magda turned to Sean. ‘For now, let’s assume Army Coat Man is Jordan Hughes. Since he’s certainly not Carl Parker or Nick McGhee.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Then we can safely say something else: what Anthony Brown said about not recognizing him was pe dracu.’
‘Bullshit?’ Sean ventured.
‘You’re learning.’ Magda was putting her phone back in her bag when it began to ring. ‘Hello, Katie. What’s up?’ She listened for a few seconds. ‘Could you? That is appreciated, Katie. So, where is DS Fuller? Is he? OK, thanks. Bye.’
Sean was watching with eyebrows raised.
‘A big cheer for Katie,’ Magda announced. ‘The fingerprints on Kevin Rowe’s window. The ones Fuller was trying to hold back on; they’ve matched to a Mr Carl Parker.’
Sean sat back. ‘That’s a result.’
‘Katie’s sending me his address. Unfortunately, DS Fuller is currently busy interviewing a suspect in an unrelated case. I think, perhaps, we could pay a visit to Mr Parker ourselves?’
Sean drummed his fingers on his knees. ‘You don’t think that’s going to really piss Fuller off?’
Magda smirked. ‘I suppose it might.’
TWENTY-NINE
Carl Parker lived mid-way down a gently curving row of semi-detached houses. The properties were, Sean guessed, built in the sixties as three-bedroom homes. Most were well tended and many had extended outwards, sacrificing their side gardens for a larger kitchen.
The cars that were parked on the drives were generally new, with several slightly more expensive makes among them. It all suggested a respectable street of hard-working people. Outwardly, at least.
Parker’s house had a single car on the drive, a bright yellow VW Beetle. Something, Sean guessed, that belonged to a female driver. ‘He’s probably at work.’
The woman who answered the door confirmed his suspicions. ‘I’m his wife, Julia. Can I help?’
‘No,’ Magda retorted. ‘Where is his place of work?’
‘I can ring him for you,’ she replied, one hand adjusting shoulder-length ash-blonde strands of hair. The styling looked expensive, as did her cream linen trousers and long, pale blue cardigan. ‘He runs his own car place; it’ll be no trouble for him to nip home.’
And less of a spectacle than us turning up in front of his staff, Sean thought.
‘Very well,’ Magda replied. ‘If he can come straight here.’
The woman held up a finger as she fished a phone from her cardigan pocket. Swivelling away, she spoke in hushed tones from behind the half-open door. After a few seconds, she peered round it. ‘Carl is wondering what it’s in relation to?’
‘It’s easier if we discuss it here,’ Magda stated flatly.
She clearly wasn’t happy with the answer. ‘I do the company’s books. Perhaps if you tell me—’
‘It’s a matter for your husband,’ Magda replied.
Mrs Parker blinked. ‘Of course.’ Another few seconds of muffled speech. The door then opened fully. ‘He’s on his way. Please come in.’
They stepped into a hallway that was so clean it felt like part of a show home. A framed photo of a boys’ football team on the wall, each lad wearing the same strip. The lettering across the front of their shirts spelled Cindy’s. Anthony Brown’s casino, Sean realized. Interesting. He recalled Brown saying something about Kevin Rowe being his son’s football coach. ‘Which one’s your lad?’
She paused, before touching a coffee-coloured fingernail against the glass. ‘That’s Charlie. Same position as David Beckham used to play. Seven, was it?’
Sean couldn’t say: football didn’t interest him. ‘And is this the team Anthony Brown’s son plays for, too?’
The question caused a momentary flutter of her eyelashes. A red dot appeared high on each cheek. ‘Yes. It is.’
‘And which one …?’
She pointed to a stocky lad in the front row with dead eyes and a droopy bottom lip.
‘A defender, I bet,’ Sean said.
‘Couldn’t say,’ she replied, voice noticeably colder.
You’ve touched on something there, Sean thought to himself. Nice work.
She tried to leave them on a white, leather sofa in the sterile front room. ‘Tea?’ she asked, heading for the door.
‘Your house is very nice,’ Magda said, sending Sean a knowing look as she got back up and followed the other woman out; there was no way they wanted Mrs Parker to phone her husband again so they could prepare responses.
Sean used the opportunity to take a good look around the room. More photos of the family. Carl Parker had now lost most of his hair. But the eyes were still calculating. It seemed like they owned a static caravan somewhere beside the sea. Those things weren’t cheap. On the shelves were a few nondescript wooden ornaments, more suited to a hotel. A small trophy topped by a golden football. An obscenely large TV attached to the wall above a non-functional fireplace. The house certainly couldn’t be described as cosy.
He heard a car and looked out the window to see a large black Mercedes pulling swiftly onto the drive. So you really do work round the corner, Sean thought. Carl Parker climbed out. He was doing his best to appear casual, but his shoulders were tight beneath his pale pink shirt and he slammed the car door a little too forcefully. Eyes darted for an instant toward the house. A furtive, uneasy look.
Sean listened as a key turned in the front door’s lock. An instant later, Parker poked his head into the room. Seeing only Sean there caused a look of confusion. Sean would have let it continue, but fake laughter rang out from further in the house. Parker’s head shifted towards the sound.
‘They’re in the kitchen, I think,’ Sean explained. ‘Your wife offered to make tea.’
‘Right. Yes.’ He was obviously in two minds whether to carry on into the room or divert towards his wife.
‘I’m DC Blake,’ Sean announced, getting to his feet. ‘I work for the Serious Crime Unit here in Manchester.’
‘Oh! It was your photo in the paper.’ Carl paused. ‘This sounds … serious. Is it?’
‘Let’s wait for my colleague, DS Dragomir.’ Sean sat back down. ‘Your place of work can’t be far away.’
The muffled sound of voices was carrying through to them. Sean could tell Parker hated the fact he couldn’t be in two places at once.
‘Is it?’ Sean asked. ‘Very far?’
‘What? Oh – no. I run a garage and car showroom on Droylsden Road.’ Reluctantly, he stepped into the room and headed towards an armchair. ‘It has its ups and downs, like any business.’
‘Your son looks like a keen footballer.’ Sean nodded at the trophy. ‘Which team does he play for?’
‘Abbey Hey Under-10s.’
‘Abbey Hey? Can’t say I know where their clubhouse is.’
‘They don’t have one. They have access to the AstroTurf pitches at Wright Robinson Sports College. By Gorton Upper Reservoir?’
‘Ah,’ Sean replied. ‘The one that forms part of Debdale Park?’
The other man’s face clouded. Sean thought: You know that’s where Phil Nordern’s body was found. And then you visited Kevin Rowe’s house around his time of death.
‘They train on Tuesday evenings and play on Saturdays.’
Sean was now at the question he had been carefully working towards. ‘Which dad got the job of coaching?’
Parker breathed in. A great way, Sean knew, to buy a moment’s time.
‘Sorry. Which dad?’
Bouncing the question back: another evasive tactic he’d observed many times in the interview room. ‘Isn’t that how it works with junior teams? One of the dads always gets roped-in as coach?’
Parker’s eyes were shifting about. ‘You’re right, he’s called Kevin Rowe. His son, Charlie, plays striker.’
The sound of Mrs Parker’s voice was growing louder.
Sean kept his eyes on the other man’s face and said nothing.
Carl Parker began withering under his gaze. ‘So …’ He began picking at his nails as he tried to think of something – anything – to say. ‘Do you play football?’
Sean shook his head. ‘No.’
Mrs Parker called out. ‘Carl? Was that you?’
‘Yes,’ he sounded relieved. ‘In here.’
Mrs Parker appeared in the doorway with a tray in her hands. Two cups beside the teapot. ‘Are you wanting one?’
He waved a hand. ‘No, I’m fine.’
She leaned forward to place the tray on a low table. ‘Right …’
Magda stepped round her. ‘I’ll be Mum, don’t worry! Could you close the door behind you?’
She hovered a moment longer, eyes moving with dismay to her husband. ‘Very well … I’ll leave you all to it.’ Reluctantly, she retreated to the corridor, pulling the door shut behind her.
Magda immediately turned to Carl. ‘Hello. I’m Detective Sergeant Dragomir.’
Carl straightened his tie. ‘How can I be of help?’
‘I imagine you’ve seen the local news?’ she asked, not bothering with the tea.
His eyes had a rodent quality in the way they slid from Magda to Sean and back again. ‘You’re talking about the killings?’
‘That’s correct. Lee Goodwin and Phil Nordern.’ She let the names hang in the air.
Parker sat back and crossed his legs. He ran a hand over his knee to smooth out the material. ‘It sounds terrible,’ he eventually said, eyes downcast.
‘They were both at the school you went to.’
He glanced up with a weary expression. ‘How long are we going to dance around this?’
Magda received the question by half raising an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The fact that I knew them both.’ He lifted a palm. ‘We were silly teenage lads together and, back then, we caused a fair bit of trouble. There.’
Sean thought of the ex-head teacher’s words to describe Parker. A sly intelligence. Cruel, too.
‘Quite a lot of trouble, looking at the records from that time,’ Magda said. ‘A few other names kept cropping up alongside yours. Who else do you remember from back then?’
Sean watched as Parker’s eyes crept towards the corner of the room. Just for a moment, they stopped on the football trophy. This’ll be interesting, Sean thought.
‘Let’s see … there was Kevin Rowe.’ He turned to Sean. ‘The football coach I mentioned?’
Sean nodded.
Parker waited a moment, but Sean gave him nothing back. ‘Then there was Anthony Brown – he owns a few establishments. Entertainment venues in the city centre. Did well for himself.’ He searched both their faces for a second.
This is great, Sean thought. He’s like a worm on the hook.
‘Look,’ Parker suddenly blustered, ‘what’s this about? Why do you need to know this?’
The only bit of Magda that moved was her lips. ‘Please continue with the names, Mr Parker.’
He brushed at his trouser leg again, picked at the stitching on his leather shoe. ‘Continue with the names …’ He sniffed abruptly. ‘No. I’m not doing that.’
Magda’s expression didn’t change. ‘Why not?’
‘I feel … I feel you’re leading me here. I’m not comfortable.’
‘So you’re unwilling to help us with our enquiries?’
He studied her briefly. ‘As you know, I’ve had experience of the police. How certain elements within it operate. I’m sure you two are very nice,’ a quick smile to reinforce the sarcasm in the comment, ‘but I think this is something I shouldn’t be getting involved in. Not without my lawyer.’
‘You mean, you’d prefer this conversation takes place in an interview room at the station?’ Magda countered.
‘Do it where you want,’ Parker said, sitting up straighter. There was a defiance about him now. ‘Doesn’t bother me. But I want you both to leave.’
Magda inclined her head. ‘Very well. Though I find your attitude troubling.’
Parker stood. ‘Like I give a shit. Off you both go.’
‘We’ll see you again, Mr Parker.’ Magda’s voice was grave. ‘Soon.’
Sean opened the living room door to glimpse a flash of blonde hair as Mrs Parker scuttled back into the kitchen. What a horrible pair, he thought.
THIRTY
The door to the side meeting room was thrown open with such force its handle cracked against the wall. A couple of flakes of paint dropped to the carpet. ‘What the fuck do you think you were playing at?’
Sean, Magda and Katie May turned round. Fuller surveyed all three of them, anger colouring his face.
‘You went to see Carl Parker – who is key to my line of enquiry!’
Magda walked calmly round the table so they were facing each other. She’s really something, Sean thought. The bloke’s got steam coming out of his ears.
‘He also links to ours, DS Fuller.’
‘Peripherally, at best.’
‘More than that, in my opinion.’
‘Bollocks, and you know it.’ He leaned to the side and thrust a finger at Katie May. ‘And you. What the fuck were you doing feeding the results of the fingerprint analysis to them?’
‘Don’t start on the Civilian Support,’ Magda said quietly. ‘DCI Ransford expressly instructed that all intelligence is to be shared. Katie was only following those instructions.’
‘Horse shit.’ He nodded at Katie. ‘I fucking see where your loyalty lies on this one. Look at you, squirreled away in here.’ He surveyed the table, spotted the photos from Belle Vue High School. ‘So come on, then. If we’re sharing, what have you got?’
Magda made a show of looking at her watch. ‘We’re all in with Ransford in five minutes. No point repeating everything.’
There was a sneer to Fuller’s lips. ‘Yeah, right. You’ – his attention was on Katie once more – ‘I’ve changed my mind about the image of Army Coat Man. Get it circulated to every division in Greater Manchester, that’s if you’re not too busy helping out in here.’
He stormed out of the room.
Sean turned to Katie. Her face was pale. ‘You all right?’
‘Yes,’ she replied softly. ‘I think so.’
Magda placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Men like him: jegosule. They pick on others so they can feel good. Do not worry about him.’
‘Thanks, but,’ she got to her feet, ‘I’d better, you know, do as he asked. If he makes a complaint to Maggie James …’
Sean lifted a finger. ‘If he does that, we will submit one about him.’
She smiled. ‘Thank you. So have you got everything you need? The summaries of the CCTV coverage are underneath—’
‘Shoo.’ Magda waved her fingers. ‘Go. Keep that nemernic happy: circulate the image of Army Coat, even though we know who he is and what he did.’
Katie froze in the act of getting up. ‘You do?’
Magda looked at Sean. ‘Shall I tell her, or you?’
Sean spread his hands. ‘You go ahead.’
‘We went back into the juvenile court records, searching for a particular name.’ She clicked her fingers. ‘The photo in his file matches the CCTV. Army Coat Man is called Jordan Hughes and, in 2002, he was convicted of murder.’
Katie’s eyes were wide with shock.
Magda winked at her. ‘We’ll let you know Fuller’s reaction when it comes out in this meeting.’
‘I actually finished my shift at four, so I doubt I’ll still be here when you come out.’
‘Oh, well – you have a lovely evening,’ Magda replied, gathering the sheets into a neat pile. ‘And see you tomorrow.’
