The DCI Yorke Series 2: Books 4-6 Kindle Edition (DCI Yorke Boxsets)

by Wes Markin

  ‘Cracked. Not broken. Internal organs are in no danger from jagged edges. I’m good to go.’

  ‘You’re being ridiculous,’ Robinson said. ‘I did that to my ribs playing Rugby years ago - you’re going to be in pain for months. And that’s just the physical damage. God knows what witnessing that murder will have done to you.’

  ‘Yes,’ Madden said, ‘You’re going home, Mike. I’ve already signed you off. I didn’t come here today to bring you grapes, I came to tell you that Operation Tagline is no more - we’ve passed the investigation completely off to SEROCU.’

  Robinson nodded.

  Yorke scowled.

  ‘We’re more than capable you know!’ Robinson said.

  ‘I understand that,’ Yorke said. ‘It’s just …’

  ‘You’d like to finish what you started?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I get that one, fella. But, listen. Janice’s death is connected to Article SE. We let you continue running it, not just out of courtesy, but because you were in prime position to potentially accelerate the investigation. Unfortunately, that acceleration has now led to the death of a police officer, it would be negligent to let this go on.’

  ‘Luke brought his own death on. It was nothing to do with Janice Edwards.’ Yorke winced again. Both his ribs and face were conducting an orchestra of pain. He was going to have to try harder to keep emotion out of his voice.

  ‘It was everything to do with Article SE though.’ Robinson sighed and leaned forward. ‘I’m going to level with you.’ He paused. His Adam’s apple nodded as he gulped. He clearly didn’t want to do any levelling. ‘We’ve known about Luke Parkinson for a long time.’

  Despite the pain, Yorke let his body tense over. ‘How long?’

  ‘A long time,’ Madden interrupted. ‘You’re getting details but you’re going to have to accept that they have to remain confidential.’

  ‘So you knew too?’ Yorke said. He winced again.

  Madden nodded.

  ‘That he was involved with the death of Danielle? My sister?’

  Both Madden and Robinson looked at each other.

  ‘Jesus!’ Yorke crossed his arms. He immediately regretted it. The sudden movement made his battered chest feel like it was going to implode.

  ‘Understand it from our point of view, Mike,’ Robinson said, ‘What would you have done if we’d told you that Luke Parkinson was a long-term employee of the Young family?’

  ‘Arrested him?’

  ‘Precisely,’ Robinson said. ‘And often, in these situations, that’s not the best course of action. We usually stand to gain more by monitoring a dirty police officer than simply taking them out the game.’

  ‘Doesn’t seem right,’ Yorke said.

  ‘No, it doesn’t, which is why it’s down to us to make those judgement calls. Keeping Parkinson loose has got us more bang for our buck. He wasn’t the most careful of bent officers. We’ve shut down countless rackets as a result of his incautious behaviours. He’s the lesser of two evils.’

  ‘There’s nothing lesser about my sister not getting the justice she deserved. And there’s nothing lesser about the conviction of an innocent man who then went on to commit suicide in jail.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Michael, I really am, but it’s over now, and if it makes you feel any better, we identified Parkinson years after the incident with your sister.’

  ‘But you realised that he’d been involved?’

  There was a pause while Robinson and Madden looked at each other again.

  ‘We did,’ Robinson said. ‘We also knew about William Proud. He was a valuable asset in the Young’s drug-dealing arm. Parkinson facilitated Proud’s exoneration and the framing of Tom Davies.’

  ‘And he used Harry, my best friend, to help him do this.’

  ‘Yes. Butler was an accomplice. But I believe you found this out already?’

  ‘Yes, after years of blaming him for letting the real killer get away, he told me, right before he died, that he’d been threatened into doing it. He didn’t tell me it was Parkinson though.’

  ‘I’m sorry for these experiences, Mike, I really am. He probably threatened Butler with the Young family. That would’ve put anyone under a lot of pressure.’

  Yorke sighed and thought of his sister’s smiling face.

  Was this closure then? After all these years of pain, had it finally arrived? And if it truly was closure, and not another false alarm, how was he supposed to feel right now?

  It certainly wasn’t relief.

  ‘It seems Parkinson underestimated the Young family,’ Yorke said.

  ‘The Youngs are only a small part of it. Since Article SE, organised crime has grown at a remarkable rate. Parkinson wasn’t alone; most of this country are underestimating this entity.’

  ‘Well, after meeting their go-to assassin, I’m certainly not going to underestimate them anymore. Have you got any closer to catching Borya since I’ve been laid out in here?’

  ‘He’s more shadowy than his bloody employers,’ Robinson said. ‘He emerges, kills and vanishes without a trace.’

  ‘There’s always a trace,’ Yorke said.

  ‘I agree with you. And we’ll find it. And this is one person that we won’t monitor. We’ll stop him. Stop him dead, if necessary.’

  ‘From what I’ve learned of him,’ Yorke said. ‘I think that’ll be your only option.’

  ‘There’s one more thing, Mike, before we leave you to your family,’ Madden said. ‘I haven’t been totally truthful with you about the reason Parkinson was elevated. We weren’t simply exposing his weaknesses. SEROCU believed that by increasing his profile, by putting him at the centre of the investigation and therefore, the media, he would become more valuable to Article SE. These bastards are drawn to power.’

  ‘Do you really think that would have worked?’

  ‘Yes,’ Robinson said. ‘People higher up in Article SE would have exposed themselves and we’d have been there to round them up. But Parkinson’s habits of skimming money, and a visit from Borya, killed that plan before it had even got started.’

  ‘I watched that lunatic split an innocent old man in half,’ Yorke said.

  ‘I’m sorry for you, Mike,’ Robinson said. ‘And I’m sorry for Alfie Marshall and his family. But we will get him.’

  ‘So, that’s it then?’ Yorke said. ‘Case closed?’

  ‘There will be justice for Janice, Alfie Marshall, and Parkinson, even if he’s rather undeserving, but your role in all of this is over. I want you to take a month, possibly longer, to heal. And then I want my best police officer back at HQ. Do you understand?’

  Yorke nodded. ‘Not really, ma’am, but what choice do I have?’

  ‘None,’ Madden said. ‘And if experience has taught me anything over the years, Mike, it’s far better to not have the choice. It’s just so much simpler that way.’

  Borya opted for a weight that was beyond him.

  And then he owned it.

  Every individual repetition was smooth, every burn was controlled, and every roar was restrained.

  After dropping the barbell onto the rack and catching his breath, he swung his legs off the bench, sprang to his feet, and beheld himself in the mirror.

  His body rippled.

  Then, his eyes wandered down to the single blemish.

  Just beneath his left knee. An oval bruise. Administered by DCI Yorke. A bruise that had caused him to limp for the last two days.

  In the heat of battle, Borya had been aware of the blow administered by the officer but hadn’t been aware of the damage caused by it.

  He would have still let the officer live to feel the defeat. As an opponent, he’d been the best he’d encountered in this country. Most of them succumbed, quickly. DCI Yorke had continued to fight and would have fought to the death if necessary.

  Borya believed that honest fighters deserved to live through their defeats as well as their successes. They were entitled to feel the pain of failure, as well as
the joys of achievement. Borya could think of nothing else in this world that was more appropriate.

  Still, Borya did not appreciate the damage to his leg.

  Not at all.

  He felt sullied. Any damage to himself. Any mark. Must come only from him.

  He looked at his right hand. It was already wrapped in a Kumpur, a strip of cloth used by boxers. Suitable protection.

  He took a deep breath and felt the moment.

  Everything was quiet. Still.

  Peace.

  He roared and drove his fist into the glass mirror. A spider-web exploded out from the point of contact.

  No blood. Just pain in his knuckles.

  Perfect.

  14

  THIS WASN’T THE first time Yorke had seen Jake since his near-death experience, but it was the first time he’d seen him without a head full of painkillers.

  Jake was eyeing up the colourful flowers on his bedside table while Yorke finished off his final hospital lunch. Patricia and Ewan were due to collect him within the hour.

  ‘The flowers from Madden?’ Jake said.

  Yorke smiled. ‘She told me how she spent an age selecting the most interesting flowers. She delivered them with the vow to brighten up my dark days as best she could.’

  ‘Shit … I was joking.’

  ‘So was I, they’re from Emma.’

  Jake laughed. ‘Well, she’s obviously got more time on her hands these days if she’s managed to put together a bouquet like that.’

  ‘Everyone has more time on their hands than us, Jake.’

  Jake sat and they talked as if they hadn’t spoken in a long while.

  In truth, Yorke considered, they hadn’t. Not properly anyway. Not like best friends.

  Yorke filled Jake in on his experiences as a new father, while Jake told Yorke about a woman he’d met on Tinder and shared two dates with.

  They were like two estranged childhood buddies desperate to fill each other in on life’s journey as quickly as possible lest they were suddenly separated by life’s obligations again.

  And all this with a shadow as thick as the ash cloud hanging over both of their heads.

  A big, strong-looking man. Marriage problems. Polite.

  The words of the young woman in the brothel-squat. The sex-worker who delivered envelopes of money to bent police officers.

  Bent police officers who ended up dead.

  ‘Jake … I’m worried.’

  Jake reached over and let his large hand settle on his shoulder carefully, so as not to put too much weight on his fragile friend. ‘These are turbulent times, Mike. But SEROCU has taken the case now. We did our best, and now we just need to take a deep breath and let it go.’

  Yorke looked down and took that deep breath for different reasons. ‘I’m not worried about the case; I’m worried about you.’

  Jake withdrew his hand and sat back in his chair. ‘This again? You don’t have to—’

  ‘It’s not just this again, Jake. It’s more now. Much, much more.’

  ‘You’ve lost me—’

  ‘What are you mixed up in?’ Yorke looked back up at his best friend.

  Jake looked away. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Parkinson … Do you know why he was killed?’

  ‘Of course … doesn’t everyone? I mean it’s not really information they can keep squirrelled away when Article SE and their infamous hitman is involved.’

  ‘You and Parkinson were close.’

  ‘Didn’t we discuss this already? We were colleagues. We both smoked—’

  ‘People will have noticed how close you’ve been … not just me.’

  ‘People notice a lot of things which don’t mean a great deal.’

  Yorke turned from Jake and gazed over to the window; outside, the day remained dark.

  ‘The prostitute who’d been handing envelopes to Parkinson, she told me there was another officer.’ He resisted looking back at Jake. He didn’t want to see his reaction. He was desperate for this not to be true. ‘She mentioned someone who was big and strong. And polite.’

  ‘Could be a million people.’

  ‘With marriage problems, she said.’

  There was a moment of silence. ‘That still doesn’t narrow it down significantly.’

  But the silence, although momentary, had been there, and Yorke now knew.

  Yorke turned back to look into his eyes. ‘Jake, I want to help you. I’m asking you now, as a best friend, and not an officer, are you mixed up in this?’

  ‘No ...’

  ‘I can’t keep asking you. At some point, I’ll have to do my job.’

  Jake sighed and took a moment to think. Eventually, he said, ‘It’s over. Anything that may have happened, has happened. And it’s done. I can assure you.’

  ‘You need to talk to me.’

  ‘Who do you think put that file on your desk?’

  Yorke felt his stomach lurch; he’d not seen that coming.

  ‘I will always be on your side, Mike. Always.’

  ‘Jake, I need to know how involved you are. How deep this goes for you. I can’t protect you otherwise.’

  Jake rose to his feet. ‘It’s done, Mike. You have to trust me.’

  ‘It’s not enough, Jake. You have to—'

  The door opened, and a smiling nurse came into the room. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but this gentleman needs his medicine.’

  ‘I was just going, ma’am,’ Jake said. He put his hand on Yorke’s shoulder again. ‘I’ll see you later, buddy.’

  ‘Jake, stay. We need to finish this.’

  But Jake didn’t listen. He turned and left.

  Vanessa noticed a young man smiling at her from the end of the Sports and Games aisle.

  She was used to male attention. She knew that she was way above average and then some.

  But she also knew young male students were like dogs with two dicks, so the attention didn’t make her feel special. If any of her fellow female students were here today, they’d be getting the same stares.

  Despite this, her interest had been piqued more than usual this afternoon.

  Not because the lingering stare came at her in the Southampton Public Library, because when did that ever stop men? A library, or a bar? Both were meat markets as far as they were concerned. No, what made her curious was that she didn’t recognise him at all.

  She was a third-year English major, and had notable celebrity due to her wealth and connection to a large business empire. She knew everyone. She made it her business to know everyone. Janice, her bezzie, often referred to her as Southampton’s most prominent socialite. The West Country’s answer to Kim Kardashian.

  Yet, here was a young man, a very attractive one she might add, who she simply didn’t recognise. Yes, some people did slip through her social net, but never ones as good-looking as this. No way. Even if she’d overlooked him, someone in her close social circle would have picked him out of the crowds and alerted her to his existence. So, who was he and why was he staring?

  The first floor of the library was quiet today, and no one else was opting for a book on sports and games.

  Her game was badminton. She knew where it was, having consumed most of the books on that shelf already. The mysterious stranger was researching a sport on the shelf directly opposite.

  Before heading down the aisle for this exciting meeting, she needed a quick health check first. She concealed herself behind the end of the aisle and brought her compact mirror into action.

  No wayward smudging of make-up. Not a lash out of place.

  Perfect.

  She turned into the aisle.

  Up ahead, the dark-haired stranger had become engrossed in a book and was no longer looking at her. She moved slowly, stroking her hand across the shelved books, willing him to lift his eyes one more time, at least, before she engaged with him.

  He must have heard her thoughts. He showed her his eyes again, smiled and winked.

  Shit, he
’s brash!

  She looked away. Expected a smile back? Not so easy now, is it? I’m different from the other girls … I’ll make you work for your supper.

  At her favoured shelf, she chanced a glance at his. Hockey.

  She reached up for a book she already owned. A Brief History of Badminton. After flicking through to a page on the origin of the shuttlecocks, she leaned against the shelf, side-on, and pretended to read.

  She could hear his strong, deep breaths. She could also smell his after-shave. It was stronger than she was accustomed to in partners, but she wasn’t offended by it.

  After waiting patiently for his move, she took matters into her own hands and dropped the book.

  He swooped for the text. Then, he was holding it out to her, and they were looking into each other’s eyes.

  His eyes were grey with bluish tinges. She looked down at A Brief History of Badminton. He had colourful tattoos on the back of his hands, which disappeared up his sleeve and, presumably, up his arm.

  She took the book and looked up again, noticing that the same colourful tattoos rose slightly above his buttoned collar.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘I like your tattoos. They’re colourful.’

  ‘Thank you,’ the man said. He had a strong foreign accent. ‘Everybody in my family has the same tattoos. From the age of sixteen, our entire bodies are tattooed.’

  Vanessa was disappointed. She wasn’t a fan of tattoos. And a full body one certainly held no appeal. It was a non-starter. She decided there was time for one more show of politeness, before making a sharp exit. ‘Where do you come from?’

  ‘Saint Petersburg. I don’t learn here. I am visiting relatives.’

  She nodded. ‘Well, I hope you have a nice stay … okay, I have what I need.’ She held up the book in front of her. ‘A Brief History of Badminton.’

  He showed her his book. ‘Ice Hockey. There’s lots of ice in Russia.’

  She stepped to the side. He also stepped to the side, blocking her path. ‘Would you like to stay and talk?’

  ‘I’m meeting my boyfriend …’

  ‘Ah,’ the young man said. ‘I misunderstood—’

  ‘That’s okay, it’s—’