The Crooked Beat by Nick Quantrill Page A

you.’
    ‘That’s right.’ I sat down opposite him.
    ‘At least you’re a friendly face. I don’t see too many of them stuck in here. I assume you went to the pub to find me?’
    I told him that was exactly what I’d done.
    ‘Hardly matters. Friend or enemy. It’s the price you pay for working in the police. Besides, look at me, who’s going to be interested in a man in my condition?’
    I poured him a glass of water and told him the story I’d prepared as I’d driven to see him. ‘I’m sorting out a party for Don and I need some help with the guest-list.’
    ‘His 65th?’
    I nodded. ‘Who should I be inviting?’
    Branning gave me a list of names. I made a note of them to keep up appearances. Some of the names I’d heard before, some were new to me. I let him reminisce for a while. It put a smile on his face, and truth be told, I enjoyed listening to his stories. I got us back on track. ‘Is there anyone I shouldn’t ask?’
    Branning thought about the question. ‘Don’s a good man. He always did the job as it should be done. In fact, I don’t think anyone worked harder than he did. And he worked some tough cases in his time. Do you remember Bruce Lee, the arsonist? He worked that one. It was tough. Three children dead.’
    ‘I can imagine.’
    ‘He worked the Christopher Laverack case, too.’
    I knew that case had pushed Don to his limits. He would often speak about it. A nine year old boy sexually assaulted and battered to death. Sarah wouldn’t have been much older than the boy at the time. I knew the case had resonated with him.
    ‘As for enemies,’ Branning said, ‘there was Reg Holborn. He was a DI like Don, but they never saw eye to eye. I never pushed him on it. I never had any time for Holborn, either, but you learn to mind your own business.’ He tapped his nose. ‘You learn to keep that out.’
    I wrote the name down and underlined it. I looked up at Branning. ‘He wasn’t on the level?’
    ‘He made plenty of arrests’.
    I waited for Branning to elaborate. He said nothing further, but I got the point. I tapped my pen on the pad resting on my knee and decided to take a chance. ‘What can you tell me about George Sutherland?’
    ‘He was very much Frank Salford’s man. Obviously you’ll know all about him. They both came up in the late sixties from the council estates and made names for themselves at the rugby and the football. Gang culture is nothing new, believe me. Sutherland was well in with Frank Salford, but so far as I know, he kept his head down. We could never prove anything against him, either. On paper, he was legitimate. We suspected he was money laundering for Salford in his pubs, but again, nothing stuck. Even the VAT man went in for a sniff around but didn’t get anywhere. We couldn’t prove it, but we knew Salford really owned the pubs. He must have been protected or Salford wasn’t too bothered if he was skimming cash from him. All I know is they were tight.’
    ‘Sounds like he hasn’t changed all that much,’ I said, thinking about his pub. ‘Everything is cash-based.’ I was ready to leave. I needed some fresh air and he’d given me something to work with. I thought about Sutherland’s apparent change in character. He’d gone from an under the radar criminal to teeing up a significantly risky operation that would end with serious prison time if caught. With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I realised he was a man with nothing to lose. His wife of thirty years had left him and his business was failing. This was his chance to be a player. And I’d facilitated it. Dragging me into it all was going to give him a measure of revenge. I could see that now. I thanked Branning and got as far as the door before he called out to me.
    ‘It’s Don’s 64th this year.’
    I stopped with my back to him and smiled. He’d known all along.
    ‘You know where I am if you need me, Joe,’ he said.
     
    The History Centre housed the city’s archives and local