Ashes to Ashes: An unputdownable thriller from the Sunday Times bestseller. Paul Finch

an argumentative drunk, so he could have been beaten simply because he’d picked a fight with the wrong person.

      Heck would need to wade through the directory-thick wads of affixed notes and photos sent down from the investigation teams up at Humberside and West Midlands before he could make a judgement. But before he had a chance even to start on this, his mobile rang.

      The name on the screen was Penny Flint.

      He walked out to the adjoining corridor before answering it.

      ‘Don’t take me off the register,’ she said.

      ‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.’

      ‘I can still be useful to you, Heck.’

      ‘Penny, you should be thinking about being useful to that kid of yours. Get your tail out of town before someone comes along and really damages it.’

      ‘You want Sagan?’ she said.

      He moved to the window. ‘However did you guess?’

      ‘I’ve not lost track of him totally.’

      Heck stiffened. ‘What’re you on about now?’

      ‘He’s left London.’

      ‘Penny, you’re in hiding. You’re not talking to anyone if you’ve got any sense. How can you possibly know this?’

      ‘I have my informers, just like you do.’

      ‘You’d better hope yours are more reliable.’

      ‘Do you want this intel or not?’

      Heck gazed across the river of traffic flowing along the North Circular.

      ‘What do you propose, Pen?’

      ‘I give you info on Sagan’s new location, and in return you keep me on the register and never tell anyone that I’m the one who set Cowling and Bishop up.’

      The mere thought of this stuck in Heck’s craw.

      ‘Penny … a police officer died.’

      ‘I told you, Heck, that wasn’t the plan. It was Sagan who was supposed to die.’

      ‘Tell me what you know and I’ll tell you what it’s worth.’

      There was a lengthy silence at the other end, as she considered this. She knew Heck didn’t trust her any more. The question was: did she trust him?

      ‘He’s gone north.’

      ‘I need specifics.’

      ‘Not at the moment. Not till I get what I want.’

      Heck pondered. Though he was loath to admit it, it kind of helped him out. A good lead was something he could take straight upstairs to Gemma. It might also help him clear his conscience about the info he was currently sitting on.

      ‘I’ll need to tell my gaffer what you’ve been up to,’ he replied.

      ‘No way. They’ll lock me up.’

      ‘Not necessarily. If your intel bears fruit, chances are they’ll make an executive decision to keep using you. And it’s not like you pulled the trigger on Cowling yourself. All we have to say is that you tipped off your various police handlers. It wasn’t your fault the OC guys decided not to tell anyone what they were doing.’

      ‘No deal, Heck. I know your gaffer. Piper, isn’t it? She’ll chuck the fucking book at me.’

      ‘Not if I can persuade her otherwise.’

      ‘Sorry, no deal.’

      ‘Listen, you stupid cow!’ He checked there was no one else in the passage behind him. ‘A copper died! And you’re asking me to sit on vital information. Not just now but maybe for the rest of my career. If you seriously think I’m carrying that burden, you can forget it.’

      ‘Heck –’

      ‘Shut up, Penny! This is how we play. I’m going up to the Incident Room in approximately one minute’s time. And I’m going to tell Superintendent Piper exactly what I know, namely that you contrived that clusterfuck. I’ll probably get suspended for not telling her sooner, but even that’s better than looking over my shoulder for the rest of my career on the off-chance you suddenly get tempted to spill the beans and drop me in it. The alternative is that I go up there with your red-hot tip and the mitigating circumstances I’ve just laid out. You don’t have to be a genius to work out which’ll be better for you.’

      When Penny spoke again it was in a distinctly worried voice. ‘Even if they don’t lock me up, won’t they at least take me off the register?’

      ‘Not if you’re giving us good stuff. Why would they? It’d be shooting themselves in the foot.’

      ‘I don’t want to go into protective custody or anything like that.’

      He laughed. ‘You’d be lucky. It’s not easy selling supergrasses to the top floor these days. Anyway, it depends what you know.’

      ‘Manchester,’ she said sullenly.

      ‘Manchester?’

      ‘Somewhere in the Manchester area. That’s where Sagan’s parked himself. It’s the usual thing. He’s gone there as muscle, and he’s getting well paid for his services.’

      ‘Somewhere in the Manchester area?’ Heck said slowly. ‘Seriously? That’s the best you can give me?’

      ‘Christ’s sake, Heck! I’m not his babysitter. I just hear things. He’s in the Manchester area, and he’s signed on for a firm who are in a bit of trouble. Jesus wept, you know his form … it’s not like you won’t know what to look out for.’

      He didn’t answer.

      ‘So where do we stand?’ she asked.

      ‘Get out of London, Penny.’

      ‘You deceitful bastard! You just said –’

      ‘I said I’d put a good word in for you, which I will. But if you get out of London – like now! – I won’t know where you are if they decide to pull you in as an accessory, will I? On top of that, I can’t protect you from yourself, love. Whichever mob you’ve fucked over south of the river, they’ll be looking for you as we speak.’

      She gave a heartfelt sigh. ‘How long do I have to duck out of sight for?’

      ‘That’s your call. If it was me, till the kid’s eighteen at least. But either way, do it quick. And when you do, make sure I’ve still got a number I can contact you on.’

      He hung up before she could argue further, and wandered back into the DO, halting in the doorway. Everyone was beavering away at their paperwork, but then Eric Fisher glanced up and spotted him. He arched a bushy eyebrow.

      ‘I don’t suppose we’ve had anything from the Northwest?’ Heck asked, acutely aware that it sounded ridiculously vague.

      Fisher sat back. ‘Anything what?’

      ‘Let’s say, for the sake of argument … any recent torture-murders.’

      Fisher remained blank-faced. ‘Why do you ask?’

      ‘For Christ’s sake, Eric!’ Heck approached him. ‘Have we or haven’t we?’

      Almost theatrically, Fisher pushed an open file across his desk. ‘Came in this morning.’

      Heck picked it up and flipped through the various photographic images paper-clipped on top.

      They were Greater Manchester Police crime-scene glossies, and they depicted two vaguely recognisable forms – naked males, by the looks of it – lying half-buried amid broken, mouldy furniture and other manky, rat-infested rubbish, and covered with filth and thick, clotted blood.

      ‘Found