Richard David Hardy. A sixty-one-year-old widower. A professional accountant all his working life. A regular at his local church. A hard-working individual. A gentleman. An intellectual. And one crooked little son of a bitch. That was DI Michael Fisher’s first instinct after a quick glance around the office, and he’s not finding anything to prove him wrong. He’s carefully writing out the list of clients mentioned on file. Of the eleven so far, there are only two names he doesn’t recognize. The nine others are all names that have crossed his path at one time or another. In Fisher’s experience, it is fair to judge a man by the company he keeps. To be honest, none of these men are in the top rank. None of them are serious players. They’re all low- to middle-grade criminals. Schemers and crooks of various varieties, but nobody Fisher would work up a sweat to arrest. Not worth it. None of them worth it but one. Hugh ‘Shug’ Francis.
That file’s caught his attention. He’s flicking through it now. Sitting at Hardy’s desk, the office door open. Higgins and McIntyre are still around. The two women across the hall have developed a habit of leaving and returning to their office. All so that they can peek in through the office door and see what Fisher’s doing. They’ll see nothing interesting. What they’ll see is the sort of thing that gets a conviction. Flicking through pages of numbers, trying to work out what should be there and what shouldn’t. There’s plenty. Hardy keeps details. There seems to be info on every deal Shug’s done, every employee he keeps. It’ll take an expert to unpick it all. Work out what Hardy changes, to make the numbers add up. Something must have been changed. There are people listed here who must be involved exclusively in criminal work for Shug. Money brought in through criminal work, and then hidden amongst the honest cash.
Fisher’s closing the book. Take a step back and consider everything you have. Hardy’s gone missing. Car’s outside with his mobile in it. Didn’t make it home last night. Made it as far as his car–that’s why the mobile’s there. So someone picks him up outside work. No reports of someone being forced into a car last night, so let’s say he goes willingly. You go willingly with someone you know. Who, that Hardy knows, would turn up at the end of the day and pick him up in the car park, rather than book an appointment? Someone with malicious intent, obviously. Someone with a lot to hide. Someone who’s concerned that Mr Hardy is no longer the best person to hide his secrets. Wouldn’t be any of the low-level crooks. They aren’t capable. Wouldn’t be willing, either. They just want things hidden away. No, it has to be someone growing. Or someone trying to grow. Someone very much like Shug Francis.
It’s not exactly a case, but it’s a workable theory to be getting on with. Could be that Mr Hardy will walk through the door and ask what all the fuss is about. Could be that Shug has taken him, to talk: tell Hardy what he’s going to do for Shug now. Then he lets him go. Not likely. Not with a guy like Hardy. If he’s been taken, it’s to be killed. You don’t grab someone like him off the street just to give them a warning, or to force new instructions upon them. Nah, you grab them to get rid of them. Can’t release someone like Hardy and trust him to follow instructions. Someone who perhaps doesn’t understand the consequences. Someone who thinks the police can protect him. No. If they took Hardy, they took him to kill him. He’ll be dead already. That should give Fisher the power he needs to get all this paperwork investigated.
Needs to find out more about Hardy. Find out how close he was to his clients. One in particular. Find out if he had any debts. If he was fiddling around with women he should have avoided. Long shot, but it could catch you out. You go racing after Shug, and find out Hardy had three mistresses and a mountain of gambling debts–they’ll be laughing at you for months. First, prove that there could have been no other motive. Then go for Shug. Until then, he needs to keep this quiet. Higgins he trusts. That boy’s been useful before. Smart and honest, willing to work. McIntyre, on the other hand… Going to have to be more careful with him. Those two old biddies across the hall aren’t to be trusted, either. Nothing Fisher can do to stop them blethering away to their leathery-skinned, turkey-necked peers. Witnesses–they really are insufferable!
Fisher’s going out into the hall. Higgins and McIntyre are both there.
‘Don’t need two of you,’ he’s saying. ‘Higgins, you stay here, you can help me bag some of this. You,’ he’s saying to the other one, ‘can go and find something else to do.’ That means: go and do anything that doesn’t have you under my feet. Sod who you’re supposed to be working with–I don’t want you here.
McIntyre’s nodding. Looking a little downcast, but that’s for show. This gives him the opportunity to dawdle his way back to the station. Fisher’s given him the chance to piss away the next hour or so. McIntyre’s not the sort of man to waste such an opportunity.
Higgins, on the other hand, is walking briskly into the office, eager to help. He knows Fisher’s the sort of guy who could get him interesting cases. Maybe even push a promotion his way. The sort of cop who can hold your career in his hands.
‘Close that bloody door,’ Fisher’s saying with a frown. He can hear the door across the hall opening again. He might be more patient with the women if they were useful. They have no idea about Hardy’s clients. No idea about Hardy twisting the numbers in his accounts. No idea about his home life. Bloody useless.
‘The women across the hall identified the man who came today as Ashraf Dutta,’ Higgins is saying. ‘His family have been known to the police for some time.’
‘They have,’ Fisher’s nodding. ‘His son and nephew had some piss-poor little racket selling fags. They’re nothing. Neither is the old man. He’s not who we’re looking for. He would hardly come here and place himself at the scene.’
‘If he had an appointment he might think he had to be seen keeping it. And maybe it wasn’t him who ordered it. Maybe it was the younger ones.’
‘No,’ Fisher’s saying firmly. Higgins is pissed off because he didn’t recognize the witness when he had him at the scene. He wasn’t paying attention because he didn’t think it was important. That was a mistake, and he wants to take the frustration out on the witness. ‘This,’ Fisher’s continuing, ‘is where we’re going to find what we’re looking for.’ He’s gesturing to the pile of files. Not specifically at Shug’s, but it is at the top, and Higgins is too sharp not to notice.
‘Okay,’ Higgins is nodding. ‘What can I do?’
‘I want you to go through every drawer in this office. Every folder. Every slip of paper. Let’s find anything that’s obviously out of place. Anything we get before the experts take over will buy us a head start. I’m going to let them know that we need the finance unit to look through all this. When you’re done here, you’re going back to Hardy’s house. Get inside, rummage about. Find anything interesting. Might be a better chance of getting personal info there.’
There’s plenty else to do, and a lot of it will be boring. Doesn’t matter. This feels good. Feels like one of those sneaky little chances that you can grab hold of. Fisher’s lost a couple of chances lately. Good ones. This feels different already. Hardy wasn’t in the industry, not properly. Better chance that he slipped up. A chance that this could lead to big arrests. This does feel good.