Fear the Past Page 7

  “What was the nature of those?” Broadfoot asked.

  “Massive trauma. First-degree burns and lacerations. Both of them lost limbs as a direct result of the blast,” Robertson explained. “The other employees were standing in the lobby.”

  “We believe they were drivers,” Holt added.

  “One of them was most likely about to take the fare of the waiting customer,” Robertson added. “The former two were standing as the blast occurred and were struck by glass from the dispatcher’s sliding screen. It shattered, sending shards of razor-sharp glass directly at them. The customer was either seated or lying down on the bench and I think this was the stroke of fortune that saved his life. Although caught in the blast, being in the corner saw the shock wave strike him but most of the debris flew above and past him. Bearing in mind he was half-cut from a night out, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d fallen asleep while he waited.”

  “You said the device wasn’t complicated?” Caslin asked.

  “That’s right. We’re talking about an improvised explosive. No doubt, homemade but no less deadly. I’m not expecting to find a complex chemical structure to this.”

  “And do we have any idea yet as to how it made its way into the building?”

  “We recovered the hard drive related to the internal CCTV from the rubble. It was stored upstairs and so was protected from the worst of the blast. That’s the good news.”

  “What’s the bad news?” Caslin asked.

  “The cameras were switched off thirty minutes before the bomb went off,” Robertson confirmed. An air of deflation swept throughout the room.

  “Can we find out from the footage who was present in the building at that time?”

  Robertson nodded, “I gave it to your man, there.”

  Holt stood up and crossed to his desk. Bringing his computer out of hibernation, he transferred the pictures to a projector before heading over and drawing the screen down so the others could see. Starting the footage rolling, Holt drew their attention to the time stamp in the bottom right-hand corner. It was forty minutes prior to the detonation. The images were split screen with nine camera angles displayed at the same time, a mixture of the interior and exterior of the building.

  “We’ve identified five of the people we can see here and the sixth is a member of the public,” Holt said, pointing them out. The customer was sitting with his feet up in the waiting area. One of the staff members, presumably a driver, came out and the two of them left the waiting area to go outside. “These four remaining are the victims along with another customer who appears in the waiting room in about eight minutes,” Holt said, “whereas, this guy here,” he indicated a figure approaching the rear of the building through the yard, “we are yet to identify.”

  They all strained to make out the details of the man’s face. There was precious little light in the immediate vicinity. The figure wore a hooded jumper, pulled up over his head, and he didn’t look in the direction of the cameras even once.

  “He’s been here before,” Caslin said, watching him punch in an access code and unlock the door to the rear and pass straight through. Stepping into the dimly lit hallway behind the office and adjacent to the staff kitchen, they got their first proper view of him. Camera angles could be deceptive but he appeared to be a clean-shaven, white male, roughly six-feet in height and carrying a small backpack. The image was low quality monotone and anything more discernible about his appearance was not forthcoming. “Can you clean that up at all, Terry?”

  “No, sir. Not easily at any rate but I’ll give it a go.”

  They watched as he entered the back office to be greeted by the four occupants but again, he didn’t make eye contact with the camera. The staff present appeared to pay him little attention and continued their conversation. The hooded man crossed the room and made a show of retrieving something from the corner of the room but the action was predominantly out of shot.

  “Definitely familiar,” Hunter observed. Moments later, he returned to the door and stepped out back into the hall. Two of the occupants glanced in his direction as he left but it was unclear if communication followed or not. The figure reappeared on the hallway camera walking back out the way he had come in only this time he moved at pace. “No backpack,” Hunter said. Holt sped up the film by a factor of three. The staff went about their business with nothing of note taking place until the footage ceased.

  “At least we have our bomber,” Broadfoot stated.

  “Although, it’s going to be highly unlikely we can identify him from that. The only witnesses who could identify him would be those present and they’re all dead,” Hunter argued.

  “No. He was well known to all of them. That’s one of the Fullers’ own right there,” Caslin stated. “It was an inside job. He’s a member of their organisation. No one batted an eyelid as he walked in and out.”

  “Do you think the Fullers know?” Broadfoot asked.

  Caslin shook his head, “I didn’t get that impression when we met with them.” He looked to Hunter who shook her head to signify she agreed. “We could ask Ashton or Carl but they’d never let on. We’d just find another dead body in a couple of days.”

  “Or not,” Hunter said. Caslin agreed. “It’s a bit odd the footage going off when it did. Presumably, you reckon it was set to switch off?”

  “Aye,” Robertson confirmed. “Someone intentionally went into the system the day before and set it to shut the cameras off.”

  “You’d think that was to hide the bomber coming in but they got their times wrong.”

  “That’s it,” Robertson said. “Take another look at the time stamp. The clock was wrong on the system. They programmed it right but didn’t factor in the timing was out.”

  “The big question for me is who put him up to it?” Caslin continued.

  “Could be an internal power play,” Holt suggested. “Between the Fullers themselves.”

  “Who stands to benefit most from the Fullers taking a hit like this?” Caslin asked.

  “Clinton Dade is the obvious answer,” Hunter replied. “But why now? Everything has been pretty cool between those two. It’s not like the old days when Pete was knocking about.”

  “Gangs used to fight it out after the pubs closed back then,” Caslin argued. “Business has moved on. Everyone’s a bit more professional these days. Or at least that’s what we’ve gotten used to.”

  “Go and pay Dade a visit, would you?” Broadfoot said to Caslin, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table in front of him and cupping his hands beneath his chin. “Suss him out and see if he orchestrated this. If their respective organisations are reheating the old antagonisms, I want us to get ahead of the curve rather than where we are right now.”

  “Will do, sir,” Caslin said.

  The meeting was adjourned and they split up to go about their tasks. Caslin called Hunter and Holt over to him.

  “Terry, can you dig around MacEwan and see what he’s up to at the moment but do it quietly. If he’s friendly with one local ex-copper, like Mason, then he may be friendly with more. In the meantime, Hunter and I will call in on Clinton Dade and see what he makes of all of this. Chase up the hire car company regarding the Mercedes as well, would you?”

  Chapter Nine

  The head was thrown back with an accompanying laugh, genuine and booming, projecting across the room. He was a slightly built man, tall and rangy, and one apparently able to skip the onset of middle-age spread. The diamond studs adorning his earlobes matched the chain around his neck visible beneath the collar of a neatly pressed, pink and white striped shirt. The depth of his voice surprised Caslin based solely on his outward appearance. However, he wasn’t surprised by the reaction to their visit. His eyes flicked towards Hunter who was unimpressed. The two men standing either side of Clinton Dade remained impassive, not sharing the humour.

  “You find the deaths of four people amusing?” Caslin asked.

  “I think your attempt to bring it to my do
or is,” Dade countered, the smile fading. Caslin met his eye. There was a gleam of confidence carried within the gaze. If Dade was even slightly thrown by the police presence in his office, then he hid it well. He was a shrewd operator having walked the path of criminality for several decades without falling foul of the law. A handful of convictions during his rise through the criminal ranks was all that put a blot on his copybook but they were distant memories. “I should be offended by your visit,” he said, tilting his head to the side and casting an eye to one of his associates who stepped forward.

  “I am,” the younger man said, fixing Caslin with a stare and failing to hide his animosity towards them. He was tall, powerfully built and wore his hair short, bleached a ridiculous blonde colour setting it in stark contrast to his dark eyes and skin tone.

  “And you are?” Hunter asked, drawing the gaze onto her.

  “Minding my own business,” he replied. Dade raised a hand and placed it gently on his associate’s forearm. Caslin saw it as a commanding but affectionate movement.

  “Don’t worry about Alli,” Dade said. “He doesn’t care for the attentions of the police.”

  “If that’s the case, perhaps he should make better choices regarding the company he keeps,” Caslin said.

  “Perhaps,” Dade agreed, a half-smile creeping across his face. “So, one of the Fullers’ establishments goes up in flames and you look to me? I should expect it to be fair.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time you and Pete came to blows and dragged the rest of us into it,” Caslin said.

  “Ancient history. Besides, Pete and I haven’t had cause to cross each other’s paths in years.”

  “Largely because he’s been inside for decades,” Hunter argued.

  “Has it been that long?” Dade said, relaxing into his chair and dropping his shoulders ever-so-slightly. “Time certainly flies. What brings you to me?”

  “He was sentenced to a minimum of twenty-seven years,” Caslin said, stepping forward and placing his hands on the edge of Dade’s desk in a very deliberate attempt to undermine his authority by invading his personal space and signifying there was no barrier before him.

  “So?”

  “So, he’s in the home stretch,” Caslin stated. “Knowing the type of man he is, I’ll bet he has plans for when he gets out. I wouldn’t be surprised if you factor in some of them.” Dade grinned but on this occasion the humour appeared contrived.

  “And what? You think I’m getting in first?” he said. “What possible motivation would I have?”

  “Destabilising Pete Fuller’s power base before he can get out would be advantageous to you,” Caslin said inclining his head thoughtfully. “Particularly bearing in mind the feelings he holds towards you.”

  “You seriously think I’ll be top of his list after two decades behind bars? I wouldn’t be surprised if he fancies leaving it all to the boys and putting his feet up somewhere. Maybe he’ll head to Cromer. Besides, two more years is a long time in the nick. Anything can happen to an old man.”

  “You’re the same age, aren’t you? School friends, if I recall correctly?” Caslin said. Dade nodded slowly.

  “A different life.”

  “What actually happened between the two of you, anyway? It was well before my time but I’m still curious,” Caslin asked.

  Dade took a deep breath. “It was all a long time ago.”

  “You tread on his toes? Steal one of his girlfriends?”

  “Now, that would have been even further back,” Dade said with a grin.

  “And yet probably still relevant.”

  Dade sat forward bringing him ever closer to Caslin who remained leaning forward. The two were so close, Caslin could smell the other’s breath.

  “Bombing a rival’s business is just not my style,” Dade explained. “Far too volatile in nature. It would open up the prospect of similar events befalling my own. That wouldn’t make a lot of sense.”

  “Where the two of you come into it sense goes out of the window,” Caslin countered.

  “Now you listen to me, Mr Caslin,” Dade said pointedly, lowering his tone to one of controlled aggression. Now they were seeing a representation of Dade’s formidable reputation. “Whatever befalls Pete Fuller, as well as his boys, has nothing to do with me. I’m a businessman. That is all. The past is where it is… where it belongs… and I have no intention of revisiting it.”

  “If not you, then who?” Caslin asked, holding the gaze for a moment longer before stepping back. Dade also relaxed if only a little.

  “You should be looking closer to home,” he suggested.

  “The Fullers?”

  “Exactly,” Dade said. “You imagine this is all a result of some long-term power struggle between me and Pete? Your assertion is flawed from the outset.”

  “How so?”

  “Pete still runs his enterprise from his cell make no mistake about that.”

  “Through his sons, yes,” Caslin stated. “So, what’s your point?”

  “Maybe you’re looking at the wrong struggle,” Dade said softly. “By your logic, I’m not the only one to have something to lose when the big man gets out.”

  The door to the office opened behind them and both Caslin and Hunter turned. The arrival stopped abruptly upon catching sight of them.

  “I’m sorry, Boss,” he said. “I didn’t realise you had company.” Caslin took in his measure. He was in his early thirties and struck Caslin as familiar but he couldn’t place him.

  “I know you, don’t I?” he asked the newcomer who appeared slightly perplexed. Sensing they were there in an official capacity, his eyes narrowed as he responded.

  “I don’t think we’ve met,” he said.

  “DI Caslin.”

  The young man shook his head and moved past him, “No. Never met.”

  “You must forgive Mark, Mr Caslin,” Dade said, by way of an apology.

  “The young men you surround yourself with are ill-mannered, Clinton,” Caslin said, following Mark’s passage with his eyes still trying to place him in some context within his memory. The comment made Alli bristle once more.

  “I’ll be sure to have a word,” Dade replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. We have a business to run.”

  “If I find out you have anything to do with this, Clinton. There will be no way of stopping me. If you bring a war to the streets of my city, I will tear you down one piece at a time,” Caslin said in an icy tone, leaving no one present unclear on the depth of his motivation.

  “Any problems with Pete Fuller are all of his own making…” Dade said, matching the tone, “and they have nothing… nothing to do with me.”

  Caslin exhaled, flicking a glance to the associates now lining up behind their boss. All of them displayed hostile expressions. He cracked a smile.

  “We’ll be seeing you, Clinton.”

  ***

  Reaching the car, Caslin waited for Hunter to unlock it and glanced back towards Clinton Dade’s nightclub. The purple and blue colouring adorning the building looked strange in the gloom of the afternoon. Once night fell and the neon lit up, the place would be jumping. One of York’s most popular clubs it was the jewel of Dade’s organisation and where he could be found most of the time. Having been in and around the criminal fraternity for all of his adult life, it was the illegal rave scene of the early 1990s that saw him make his step up in the food chain. As legislation caught up, he was able to transfer the skills as well as the contacts he’d accumulated and adapt to a rigid presence in the club scene. Now with a string of clubs stretching across the Greater Yorkshire area providing an air of legitimacy to his business affairs, Clinton Dade was a major player. One of the key distributors of illegal drugs across the city, he used those revenues to fuel the rest of his business empire.

  “Do you think he’s on the level?” Hunter asked.

  Caslin admitted he wasn’t sure. “It’s a tough call. You could make a case for his being behind it but at the same time…”

/>   “His reasoning is just as plausible,” Hunter finished for him. Caslin nodded his agreement. “Is Fuller likely to get out soon?”

  Caslin shrugged. “Parole boards are unpredictable. I wouldn’t like to second guess them. If it were up to me, he’d never see the light of day.”

  “And what Dade said about the Fullers?”

  “Keep it in mind,” Caslin suggested. “We’ll have to pay Pete a visit.”

  Hunter started the car and pulled out from the side road turning left in the direction of Fulford. Caslin’s phone began to ring and he saw it was Terry Holt.

  “Sir,” he began, “I’ve got a response on the red Mercedes. The hire car. It was leased to a man by the name of Brian Jack three days ago.”

  “Arriving at Manchester Airport?”

  “Yes. I’ve been onto the border Force and he flew in on the 9:15 flight from Almeria.”

  “Spain,” Caslin reiterated for Hunter’s benefit glancing over to her. She smiled. “What do we know about him, Terry?”

  “Nothing, sir. Brian Jack doesn’t appear on any of our records. No priors, no convictions, arrests – the man is a ghost.”

  “Can you search through the database and see if he’s a known associate of anyone we know?”

  “Done it, sir,” Holt said unequivocally. “Like I said, he’s a ghost. I have no record of him at all anywhere in the UK… ever.”

  “Is he a foreign national?”

  “Arrived on a British passport, sir.”

  “How can that be?” Caslin said, thinking aloud. “He exists. We were looking at him earlier.”

  “I’m going to check it out, see if I can find when the passport was issued and to which address and so on. Maybe it will become clearer.”

  “Good. Pass the car’s index around and have everyone keep an eye out for it,” Caslin said. “I don’t want him pulled over. Run it through the number plate recognition database and see if we can see where he’s been. We need to know who this guy is and finding out where he’s spending his time might help.”