Chapter 31

The Offer

Suspended from duty, Thurstan stood on the front at Parkgate, gazing across the Dee Estuary nature reserve, deep in thought. The silted-up marshland, over the last two centuries or so, had denied the village the chance of ever being a port to rival Liverpool. Even the path of the river itself had deserted to the distant Welsh side of the tidal estuary; but it was still the nearest thing the county of Cheshire had to a seaside town.

He’d noticed the shiny, dark grey Jaguar saloon with the blacked-out windows drive slowly past three times as he’d walked to his present position but thought little of it other than its behaviour had made it stand out amongst the rest. Now, he turned to continue his stroll and saw it parked up.  

As he approached, a figure stepped from it. He instinctively knew the smartly dressed man in his late thirties wasn’t going to the chip shop opposite.

“Detective Chief Inspector Baddeley?”

Thurstan smiled. “Technically, it’s Chief Inspector Baddeley, though I’m not sure how long even that will last.”

The man replied, “Could I ask you to step into the car, Sir? My boss would like to discuss something with you.”

“Yes, you could,” Thurstan responded, in a benign yet slightly cold tone of voice. They stood and stared at each other.

The suit realised the game being played and, unamused, said, “Just get into the car, Sir.”

Thurstan ventured, “And if I don’t?”

“Not an option, Sir.”

He stepped in to be greeted by an old man, trilby hat balanced on his lap, black coat and a white scarf. It took mere seconds to recall they’d met before. The young man with the invite slid into the front seat, next to the burly driver.

“Thurstan, nice to see you again. I never formally introduced myself the last time we met, but I think it’s time I did. My name’s John Gallagher. I work for the Government.”

“Nice car. So, this is where the money goes,” Thurstan dryly observed.

“Yes, it is,” the old man agreed. His next comment was directed to the driver. “Thomas, what sort of car is this?”

“Jaguar XE R-Dynamic S, Sir,” Thomas responded promptly.

“Nice colour,” Thurstan heard himself say superciliously, his aloofness taking him by surprise. This wasn’t like him at all. Why was he acting like a dick? The hopelessness of his situation, he guessed, and a certain amount of relief they really were from the Government.

Thomas ignored the dickness of the question and supplied: “Carpathian grey, Sir.”

Gallagher smiled. “Well, I hope your curiosity is satisfied. Thomas, take us on a nice, circuitous route.” 

When they’d cleared the old seafront, Thurstan’s host resumed the conversation. “Now, down to business. The department I represent has undergone some radical changes. I was never fully comfortable with our means of operating but even I realised sometimes national security had to come first. As you get older, Thurstan, some things get harder to reconcile with conscience and I felt it was time for change. As a result, we’re no longer involved in ...” he grimaced. “Let’s just call it the more robust pursuit and disposal of our nation’s enemies. That arm of our operations has been redeployed to MI5 and MI6.”

“You don’t murder people anymore, you mean?” Thurstan said, defensively leaning on his sense of humour.

“Murder’s a very strong word, Thurstan,” Gallagher replied. “The truth is we never did. But not everyone wants to come quietly and, now and then, even I’ve had to defend myself vigorously.”

“And what’s all this got to do with me?” Thurstan responded.

Gallagher lingered on the question for a few moments then said, “I want you to take over. Ostensibly, it’s a statistics unit. We have skilful analysts to provide data for those brave or foolish enough to want it or simply manipulative enough to need it." He allowed a little laugh to escape when he said, “We recently managed to portray a reasonably affluent area, not far from Liverpool, as being one of the most deprived places in England and no one batted an eyelid.” He paused before continuing.

“But it’s only a working cover for our real purpose. We’re an investigative and intelligence gathering operation now. We discover and report, simple as that, and you’re a skilful, thorough, and determined investigator with a proven track record of command.”

The unexpected compliment induced an awkward flush of satisfaction. Recovering quickly, Thurstan replied, “And what possible reason would I have for wanting to do this?”

Traditionally referred to by his subordinates as ‘The Old Man’, Gallagher answered, “Because you know as well as I do, your Police career is more or less over. These are serious charges against you ...”

“They’re false charges. The drugs and money were planted,” Thurstan calmly interjected.

He was countered with, “Yes, they are, and they were. We both know this, but very shortly they’re going to go public with the allegations and you’re going to be screwed.” He produced a little package from his pocket. “I’m almost addicted to these. Would you like a mint?” he offered. Thurstan declined. Gallagher continued.

“Without my help, I doubt very much you’ll be able to successfully counter their evidence. What have you got? The Lennie Turner investigation, with its claims of corruption going back years, an allegation of at least manslaughter, and a suspicious fire. Historical corruption? You’ve only one living witness and you can’t be sure how long he’ll last. The rest? They’re all dead, dying, can’t progress your case or don’t want to. The case against you, you’ll claim, was engineered to silence your allegations, which we know it was. But the jury will possibly or even probably think you’re a paranoid fantasist.

“If you don’t come across as somewhat odd, can you imagine what you’ll look like when the prosecution brings in a stream of witnesses to recount your dislike of Devilliers, your bitterness at being posted out of MIT and sidelined further by banishment to the Property Office? Now, whatever you think of him, he’s the Chief Constable and he has a seemingly impressive record, well thought of in many circles. But you? You’ve attracted enemies over time.”

The Old Man shook his head, slowly. “What did you hope to achieve by confronting him? His resignation?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Obviously, you were unaware he’s planning to resign anyway to take up a post with the Inspectorate of Constabulary, but he can’t let you think you’ve controlled him. He can’t let you think you’ve won. But he won’t want to take this whole debacle into the public sphere unless his hand is forced. It’s a dangerous situation for you both. With that in mind, I’m pretty sure he’ll have conveyed to you your resignation will make all this disappear. Now ... when I tell you my offer stands even if you did resign under these circumstances, you won’t ... because you’ll feel he’s won. A Mexican standoff – one with dire consequences waiting for you both.

“No, I don’t hold out any solid hope there. Best described by the words - shit, creek and no paddle.” He hesitated, then turned slightly towards his guest.

“Look, even in the very unlikely event you survive without my assistance, it’s going to drag on for months, if not a couple of years. Of course, he won’t be going anywhere in the meantime. Then, if you still have a job to go back to, you’re marked; smoke and fire, nothing comes from nothing, that sort of thing. You won’t be going back to the MIT. They won’t allow it. That ship has sailed. And that’s if they don’t find another excuse to get rid of you for some discipline offence which, need I remind you, you will have probably technically committed when you took a shortcut somewhere or gave tacit approval for someone else’s shortcut.”

He lingered, for his words to sink in, then continued. “You’ll be seen as a dangerous problem by many. In any event, do you really think a new Chief Constable isn’t going to shake departments up, post in new blood, new ideas and expertise? He might even bring in old expertise, but you won’t be part of it. You’ll be sitting there, posted somewhere you don’t want to be, viewed as being increasingly disgruntled as you’re passed over for promotion, even though you didn’t want it in the first place.”

Thurstan had sat in silence. He knew he wasn’t being bullshitted. He’d made these considerations himself. Now, he asked, “How did you know about all this?”

The reply, with a smile, “Good question. You’ve both been on the radar for some time. You, for the obvious reason and Devilliers because he’s being considered for a knighthood. Vetting, Thurstan. We discovered some interesting things about his time in the Caribbean.”

“And how do you know so much about my investigation, John?”

“Simple. Well-placed informants, collaborators, call them what you will. Oh, and let’s not forget, we monitored your mobiles.” A pause. “And then there was the surveillance.”

“You’ve been following me?”

“Only to your café meeting with Beck.”

“Then how do you know about the other things, the dead witness, the record office fire?”

“Your colleague, calls himself Gandalph.”

Thurstan gave him a quizzical look which was quickly replaced with understanding. “He’s working for you?”

“Yes, he’s a very talented young man.”

“And that’s why he wasn’t concerned about ...”

A small smile flickered over Gallagher’s lips. “Oh yes. We made it go away. Simple really. My envoy to your head of the discipline department pointed out we had an official interest in him and, if the matter wasn’t fully resolved by his resignation, our expensive and extremely well-qualified legal representative would clinically dispense with their case, which was, after all, nothing more than a mistaken prank.” He grinned. “And I’m sure the words national security would have been mentioned.”

Hush fell over them. Thurstan watched familiar countryside pass by his window before asking, “Why Stephen?”

“I was looking for a brilliantly gifted computer hacker. He came highly recommended by an old friend of yours. Nickson. He sends his regards, by the way. He’s enjoying retirement and wonders if you might want to visit him one day, when this matter’s resolved.”

Nickson. The assassin who’d consumed over two years of his life. It had been six years since, but the name still brought mixed feelings. Prickling of the skin on his arms was one. For an assassin, the man had been likeable, Thurstan just didn’t like what he’d done for a living; sometimes a position in life disbarred one from the right to admire another’s motives.

Again, silence, broken by Thurstan’s inevitable question. “What do they do with the information you give them, the security people?”

“Whatever they deem to be most appropriate. It’s not something I, or indeed you, should be concerned with. People fall under buses or fall off cliffs almost every day. Very seldom, if at all, are the Security Services involved. We’ve been operating as a specialist investigation arm for three years now and only one person has died, and I can assure you he leapt off that sea cliff of his own volition.”

The partition window suddenly went down. “Thomas, was that the pie shop we’ve stopped at previously?’

“Yes, Sir.”

“Can you turn around and get me a steak and mushroom? Failing that, you know my second choice.”

“Yes, sir.”

Intermittently consuming his pie, the cotton serviette supplied by Thomas tucked into his collar and spread across his chest, Gallagher continued. “I don’t think you have many options, Thurstan, to be honest. These allegations will affect your wife’s career with the NCA. She’s going to have to disclose your arrest to them and she’s limited in time. I’d say she’s got twenty-four hours at the very most. Depending on her shift tomorrow, probably not even that.

“You gambled recently and look where it got you. Are you going to risk the serious possibility of a jail sentence and the end of Lizzie’s career? She’ll never be employed by a policing agency again.” He wiped some gravy off the serviette with his finger. “Too good to waste” his only comment before adding quietly, “So, do you want me to fix this?”

“Doesn’t this amount to blackmail?”

“Blackmail? Not a term I’m happy to use. I prefer ... strenuously advocating compliance with the most viable and safest alternative. A bit of a mouthful, I admit, but I’ve been knocking around Government circles for too long now and these things rub off. Of course, if you think you can stubbornly and idiotically do this yourself then please, suffer the consequences.”

The use of two key words generated the response, “Have you been speaking to my wife?”

“I’m afraid I can’t reveal my sources.” John Gallagher wiped his hands and mouth, placing the serviette by his side and then smiled. 

 “An American artist, illustrator and poet, Flavia Weedn, once said, ‘If one dream should fall and break into a thousand pieces, never be afraid to pick one of those pieces up and begin again.’ So, the final question must be – do you want to accept my offer, or would you rather go to jail?”

His world tumbling down around him, resistance a futility, Thurstan had nothing left to lose.