he had her full attention. “I’ll give it some thought, but no promises.”
Her eyes shone. “Ta, guv.”
It was a look he’d not seen in a while. He nodded at the cactus. “Where did you lay your hands on that at this time in the morning?”
“Had it ages, saving it for a rainy day.”
It was early July. The sun had already turned the guv’s office into a greenhouse. He made no comment. Her glance fell on the news cutting as she passed his desk. The picture showed a group
of people on the steps of the city’s old law courts in the mid-eighties. The briefs stood out in wigs and gowns but there were plain-clothes lawmen as well.
Byford resumed his preferred perch on the windowsill. “Are you off to the ad agency now?” She’d not heard or wasn’t listening. “Bev?” She’d obviously
spotted a face in the crowd and was now taking a closer look.
“Hey, guv, you never said...” There was mischief in her eyes.
Despite himself he asked. “What?”
“You and George Clooney.” Crossed fingers added sign language. “Peas in a pod, back then.” She grinned.
“I’m taller than him,” Byford mumbled.
“This just after you joined the force?”
He opened his mouth to say not long , but her focus was back on the picture, another face. She frowned. “Is that...?”
Her index finger hovered over a smiling man on the guv’s right. “Robbie Crawford,” Byford supplied. “DC then. I was sergeant.”
She nodded, still studying the line-up. “Big case, guv?”
“Operation Rainbow.”
Her blank look was no surprise. She’d have been in pigtails when Reg Maxwell was sent down. He gave her the top lines: Maxwell had been a Birmingham crime boss behind a huge porn and
prostitution racket. Until he’d raped and murdered a ten-year-old boy.
“This guy Reg?” Bev frowned. “He any relation to Harry Maxwell?” Every cop knew that name. Harry Maxwell’s crime empire extended far beyond the Midlands.
“Was,” Byford said. “They were brothers. Past tense.” Reg Maxwell had served five years before a vicious beating by another prisoner put him on life support. “And
when the plug was pulled –” Byford stared into the distance – “only Harry shed any tears.”
A ringing phone brought him back to the present. His features sharpened as he grabbed a pen. She read the urgency in his voice – as well as the name and address he wrote. “Looks like
we’ve got a witness,” Byford said. “A man says he saw a child being forced into a car.”
She was on her feet before he replaced the receiver. “It’s on the way.”
“Call in...” Her heels echoed in the corridor. He shook his head, then studied the cutting again. Maybe she’d never come across Doug Edensor, or she’d have picked his
face out too.
He reread the note that crime scenes had dropped off first thing. It was in way of a favour from one of the officers who’d attended Doug’s broken body. This was early stuff; a
detailed report would follow, but the note appeared to confirm that ex-DCS Edensor had committed suicide. No evidence pointed to an accident, nothing suggested the fall was forced.
Byford pinched the bridge of his nose. Two cops’ sudden deaths. Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe there was no link. Even so, pending the follow-up report on Doug’s death,
he’d have another look at Crawford’s hit-and-run, go through the police reports, re-read the statements and interviews.
He’d already had a word with the DI in charge at Wake Green. The accident was still being treated as suspicious even though no one was in the frame. Byford knew everyone who’d been
questioned. Harry Maxwell had been among the first.
And Harry Maxwell had more reason than most to hate cops – not primarily because of Reg’s death in prison. Twelve years earlier, Harry’s only son had died instantly when the
driver of a stolen BMW lost control and ploughed into Maxwell junior’s Mini. A police car had been chasing the stolen
Her eyes shone. “Ta, guv.”
It was a look he’d not seen in a while. He nodded at the cactus. “Where did you lay your hands on that at this time in the morning?”
“Had it ages, saving it for a rainy day.”
It was early July. The sun had already turned the guv’s office into a greenhouse. He made no comment. Her glance fell on the news cutting as she passed his desk. The picture showed a group
of people on the steps of the city’s old law courts in the mid-eighties. The briefs stood out in wigs and gowns but there were plain-clothes lawmen as well.
Byford resumed his preferred perch on the windowsill. “Are you off to the ad agency now?” She’d not heard or wasn’t listening. “Bev?” She’d obviously
spotted a face in the crowd and was now taking a closer look.
“Hey, guv, you never said...” There was mischief in her eyes.
Despite himself he asked. “What?”
“You and George Clooney.” Crossed fingers added sign language. “Peas in a pod, back then.” She grinned.
“I’m taller than him,” Byford mumbled.
“This just after you joined the force?”
He opened his mouth to say not long , but her focus was back on the picture, another face. She frowned. “Is that...?”
Her index finger hovered over a smiling man on the guv’s right. “Robbie Crawford,” Byford supplied. “DC then. I was sergeant.”
She nodded, still studying the line-up. “Big case, guv?”
“Operation Rainbow.”
Her blank look was no surprise. She’d have been in pigtails when Reg Maxwell was sent down. He gave her the top lines: Maxwell had been a Birmingham crime boss behind a huge porn and
prostitution racket. Until he’d raped and murdered a ten-year-old boy.
“This guy Reg?” Bev frowned. “He any relation to Harry Maxwell?” Every cop knew that name. Harry Maxwell’s crime empire extended far beyond the Midlands.
“Was,” Byford said. “They were brothers. Past tense.” Reg Maxwell had served five years before a vicious beating by another prisoner put him on life support. “And
when the plug was pulled –” Byford stared into the distance – “only Harry shed any tears.”
A ringing phone brought him back to the present. His features sharpened as he grabbed a pen. She read the urgency in his voice – as well as the name and address he wrote. “Looks like
we’ve got a witness,” Byford said. “A man says he saw a child being forced into a car.”
She was on her feet before he replaced the receiver. “It’s on the way.”
“Call in...” Her heels echoed in the corridor. He shook his head, then studied the cutting again. Maybe she’d never come across Doug Edensor, or she’d have picked his
face out too.
He reread the note that crime scenes had dropped off first thing. It was in way of a favour from one of the officers who’d attended Doug’s broken body. This was early stuff; a
detailed report would follow, but the note appeared to confirm that ex-DCS Edensor had committed suicide. No evidence pointed to an accident, nothing suggested the fall was forced.
Byford pinched the bridge of his nose. Two cops’ sudden deaths. Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe there was no link. Even so, pending the follow-up report on Doug’s death,
he’d have another look at Crawford’s hit-and-run, go through the police reports, re-read the statements and interviews.
He’d already had a word with the DI in charge at Wake Green. The accident was still being treated as suspicious even though no one was in the frame. Byford knew everyone who’d been
questioned. Harry Maxwell had been among the first.
And Harry Maxwell had more reason than most to hate cops – not primarily because of Reg’s death in prison. Twelve years earlier, Harry’s only son had died instantly when the
driver of a stolen BMW lost control and ploughed into Maxwell junior’s Mini. A police car had been chasing the stolen
Similar Books
