[DI Braddick 01.0] Brick

by Conrad Jones

  39

  Harry Bedford watched a steady stream of people come and go. The Spar shop attracted the tourists, the smaller independent Trearddur Stores was patronised by the locals. He could tell the difference by the regional identifiers on their number plates. The locals mostly had plates with ‘C’ for Cymru. Older cars sold on Anglesey had plates ending in ‘EY’. Anything marked ‘M’ denoted Manchester and Merseyside. He was focusing on those. The other obvious difference was that most of the tourists donned sunglasses despite the gloomy weather and the vast majority of holidaying males wore cargo shorts even though the wind threatened to tear the flesh from their shins. The locals were dressed appropriately for the weather being well aware that they lived on an exposed rock in the Irish Sea.

  His attention was drawn to a dark BMW as it drove by him. It indicated left and stopped outside the Spar shop, his theory about tourists gaining more credibility. The number plate was marked Merseyside. Two young males climbed out of the vehicle and headed into the shop. Ten minutes later they reappeared and piled four carrier bags into the boot. Harry could see that one of the bags was full of beer. He checked Bryn’s Facebook page and scrolled through the photos. The younger man was there pictured in a boxing ring, a gym and at home with family and friends.

  “Gotcha,” Harry said as he started the engine. He checked both ways and then turned his Volvo around to face in the direction that the Evans brothers had come from. A Range Rover driver hooted his horn in protest at his manoeuvre. The driver opened his window and leaned out to flick the V-sign. Harry felt a flush of anger and opened his window. “What the fuck is your problem?” he shouted across the road.

  “You’re my problem,” the driver shouted back pointing his finger. “I don’t know where you’re from but in Wales we use our indicators to let other drivers know where we are going. It’s a simple concept. You should give it a try and take it with you when you fuck off home.”

  “Fuck you!” Harry flicked the finger unable to think of an intelligent answer. He leaned his head out of the window, his face red with anger. He had never been good at holding his tongue. The Range Rover drove off in the opposite direction, its driver chuckling to himself as he flicked the V-sign again. Harry wanted to follow him and knock him on his arse but he didn’t have the time. As he looked over his shoulder, the dark BMW pulled alongside to allow another car to pass. The passenger looked at him, their eyes meeting for a second. Harry found it hard to break eye contact despite the need to be discreet. The vehicle moved on and indicated left to follow the coast road. Harry had driven that way the night before but it had been dark then. He put the Volvo into first gear and pulled out to follow them.

  A deafening blast came from behind him as another horn made him jump. “For fuck’s sake!” he moaned to himself. He hadn’t indicated again. Looking in the rear view mirror he saw the grill of a dark Mercedes. Harry replied to the horn with a blast on his own and flicked the finger in the mirror. As the Evans brothers turned left, the noise attracted the attention of the passenger and he looked back to see what was happening. Their eyes met for the second time. Harry drove on and followed the BMW allowing another car to pull in between them. They drove slowly by the crescent shaped beach, dog walkers and crazy windsurfers enjoying the bracing wind. Harry slowed down as they approached the hotel, the car in front of him indicating to turn right into the access road. He kept his eye on the BMW as it navigated the cliff bends at a casual pace. Waves crashed against the rocks, showering the road with white foam. He began to think that the men were taking a sightseeing drive when it indicated to turn left into a walled cottage. He thumped the steering wheel in delight and put his foot on the accelerator, speeding up as he drove past the driveway. He looked straight ahead showing no interest in them.

  Mark Evans looked over his shoulder as the Volvo pulled away. He had an uneasy feeling about it.

  “Did you see the Volvo behind us?” he asked Simon.

  “The bloke with road rage?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about him?”

  “I don’t know. There was something about him that made me nervous.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, just something in his eyes.”

  “No one could know that we are here. Only Jacob and the detective know where we are.”

  “All the same he made me nervous. I think I’m just on edge. I might take a run along the rocks while you cook breakfast. It might clear my head.”

  “I’m hoping that mum and dad aren’t up,” Simon said checking his phone. He shook his head and sighed.

  “Nothing from Jacob yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I suppose no news is good news,” Mark said. Simon nodded and smiled but didn’t believe a word of it.

  40

  Bryn was taken from the ambulance into the Walton neurology department. The paramedics and a prison warden stood by his trolley as a surgical team gathered for his initial assessment following a CT scan. Jacob Graff had arrived shortly after he had come back from his scan and was invited into the room as his brief and to represent his family.

  “This is Bryn Evans, he was sent for a CT scan,” the consultant began. “He has facial trauma, some of which is historic. He was treated at the Royal yesterday after an assault and released into custody late last night. We have requested that their records are sent over immediately.”

  “They have arrived,” a male nurse said from the back of the huddle.

  “Thank you. He was attacked again this morning in his cell. He has a fractured cheekbone, broken teeth in the right upper and lower jaw, a broken ethmoid and bruising to the nose. Most concerning is a laceration to the back of the skull and there are clear signs of a subarachnoid haemorrhage. He is unresponsive and has been unconscious for nearly three hours. There are symptoms of secondary cerebral ischaemia and we’ve administered nimodipine for the bleeding and phenytoin for the fits. Neither of which is having any effect, the bleed is worsening so we need to go in and clip it and we need to do it now.” The surgeon turned to Jacob. “We need to gain permission from his parents or guardian and we need it quickly or he will die.”

  “Okay,” Jacob said concerned. The consultant starred at Jacob’s bruised face and nose with interest. “Pardon me for my ignorance but what do you need permission to do exactly?”

  “We need to carry out a craniotomy. I need to cut a small flap in the back of his skull and clip the damaged blood vessel in the brain to stop it from bleeding. Without the procedure his brain could be damaged irreparably at best and he will probably die.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” Jacob said taking his mobile from his pocket. “I will make the call for you now.”

  “We need adrenalin!” a female doctor called. “We have asystole!”

  Jacob looked at the consultant, confused and concerned. “What does that mean?”

  “The heart monitor has flat lined,” the consultant said moving away quickly. “His heart has stopped beating...”

  41

  Eddie Farrell looked over his shoulder. Tommy Tucker was aiming a pump action shotgun at the back of his head. Tucker’s face was blistered, one ear blackened and burnt. Behind him stood three bruisers who looked like they had been under the grill too long.

  “Seeing as though you’re pointing a shotgun at my son’s head,” Eddie said, pulling out a chair from under the table. He sat down and steepled his hands together, elbows on the table. “I’ll forgo the introductions. You know who we are so I’m assuming that you’re the Tucker brothers?”

  “Correct,” Joe sneered.

  “We’ve never met but I have heard a lot about you.” Eddie looked into his son’s eyes and tried to remain calm. He could see fear in Junior’s expression; beads of sweat formed at his temple and ran down his face.

  “I’m not here to have you blow smoke up my arse or to swap war stories, Farrell,” Tucker said with a shrug. “You and the Russian cunt that you work for stole my shipment.”
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  “That isn’t true,” Eddie said calmly.

  “Oh, it is true.”

  “I had nothing to do with it.”

  “You must think I’m a fucking mug?” he pushed the barrels into the flesh of Junior’s ear causing more blood to trickle down his neck. Junior grimaced in pain.

  “I was at your chop-shop last night. My container is there but my drugs aren’t.”

  “Let’s get things straight right from the get go,” Eddie said calmly despite his heart trying to punch a hole in his ribcage. “Number one, that unit belongs to a company owned by a fictitious company set up by the Karpovs. I have moved a few Mercedes a week from there as a front for them,” Eddie paused and counted on his fingers. “Number two, I’ve been in Thailand for six weeks,” Eddie said, leaning back. “I had no idea what the Karpovs had planned. I wouldn’t have gone along with it if I had. I don’t fuck over my own kind.”

  “Bollocks!” Tucker snarled. “You’ve been up their arse for years. Since when does the great Eddie Farrell give a flying fuck about knocking over a shipment of drugs?”

  “I don’t give a fuck about taking someone’s drugs, you’re right. As long as it belongs to the Turks or the Albanians or better still, those Latvian jokers who think that they can walk into the country and set up business wherever they like. When have I ever given you or any of the local outfits any mither?”

  “Oh, thanks for leaving us alone you’re a local legend aren’t you, Eddie?” Tucker snorted. “Do you think any of us locals like you? You’re about as popular as a hot poker up the arse. We put up with you being around because of those Russian cunts that you pander to. If it wasn’t for them you would have been buried years ago. You’re past your sell by date, Eddie and this little shit hasn’t got the backbone to take over. I can smell the piss from here.” Tucker looked over Junior’s shoulder and snorted. “Have you pissed your pants, young Farrell?” Junior closed his eyes, embarrassed and frightened. Anger rose purple from his neck to his hairline. “Enough talking bollocks, Eddie, you tried to shaft me and I caught you out. Where are my drugs?”

  Eddie Farrell looked down at his hands and bit his bottom lip as he thought about the situation. He shrugged and smiled.

  “Have you lot bought a sunbed business and overdone the sessions?” he asked sarcastically.

  Tucker frowned and put his arm around Junior’s neck. He dragged him backwards, the chair scraping loudly on the tiles. A choking noise came from his Junior’s throat. Tommy stepped forward and rammed the butt of his shotgun into Eddie’s shoulder, winding him.

  “Okay, okay, okay,” he gasped. Eddie half stood, palms down against the table. “It was meant as a joke. Don’t hurt him.”

  “Don’t hurt him?” Tucker said angrily. He was furious. “Do you think that you can take the piss out of me?”

  “No,” Eddie shook his head, his hands still raised. “I was trying to lighten the mood, that’s all. This is all very tense and uncomfortable. Seeing my son with a gun to his head is making me very nervous. He doesn’t know anything about the shipment.”

  “Maybe not but his head will explode when I pull this trigger. Where are my drugs?”

  “I don’t know,” Eddie said with a shake of his head. “I don’t know where Karpov has moved the drugs and that is the truth. I didn’t land back in the country until yesterday. How could I know?”

  “Bullshit!”

  “Check my passport,” Eddie shrugged. “It is in the drawer behind you. Check when I left the country and when I landed and you will see that I couldn’t have been involved in stealing your shipment. The Karpovs set this up without my knowledge.”

  Tucker nodded to his brother and he walked over to the kitchen units and opened the drawer. He took the passport out and flicked through the pages. He passed it to Joe and aimed his shotgun at Junior while he checked the dates. “He’s telling the truth.”

  “I told you,” Eddie shrugged and sat back. He folded his arms and tried to look relaxed. “Now you know that I’m telling the truth can we talk business?”

  “Are you taking the piss?” Tucker laughed sourly. He glared at Eddie with hate filled eyes. “I would rather stick wasps up my arse than do business with you!”

  “I have something that you want,” Eddie shrugged. “And you could do something that would help me out of a tricky situation. We could both walk out of here better off than we are now.”

  The Tuckers looked at each other for a moment. “What are you talking about? Do you know that my son Anthony was murdered?”

  “I heard a rumour,” Tucker shrugged. “Something to do with that fat fucker Paulie Williams I heard?”

  “He was there.”

  “Are you looking for a sympathy vote?”

  “No.”

  “Then what has that got to do with anything?”

  “I intend to crucify the scumbag who killed my son and I intend to kill his family,” Eddie said folding his arms again. “The Karpovs have made it clear to me that they won’t be happy if I do?”

  “Why not?” Tucker was suddenly curious.

  “They like stability and they think that I might attract unwanted attention from the police and the press. Whatever their reasoning, we’re going to sever ties one way or the other.” Eddie shrugged and sat forward, looking into Tucker’s eyes. “Now one way is that I cut ties myself and do as I please, in which case I’ll be seen as an enemy by Victor Karpov. That is a quick way into a box. The other way is somebody takes out Nikolai Karpov and I’m left in the clear, blameless and free to avenge my son.” Tucker licked his lips. “I don’t know where your drugs are but I do know where Nikolai is and you can bet your life that he knows where they are.”

  “How many men has he got with him?”

  “His closest men are in Manchester,” Eddie shrugged. “The only people protecting him right now are my men. I can give him to you and he can give you your drugs. We all walk away with what we want.”

  “Why would I trust you?”

  “Because I have lost one son this week and you have a sawn-off shotgun to my other son’s head” Eddie shrugged. “It is in my interest to tell you the truth and help you to get your shipment back intact.”

  “Don’t trust him, Joe,” Tommy spoke. “Give me half an hour with him and I’ll make him squawk.”

  “How can you make me tell you what I don’t know?” Eddie half smiled. “Karpov knows where they are and he will be splitting up the shipment into smaller loads as we speak.”

  “How do we know that he hasn’t already moved it?” Tommy sneered.

  “He needs my network in the city to distribute it and they don’t do anything without my say so.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Tommy growled.

  “Will you shut up!” Tucker snapped. “We don’t have a lot of choice here. We need those drugs back.”

  “You know this makes sense,” Eddie said looking at Tommy. “I give you Nikolai Karpov. He gives you your drugs. I get the Karpovs off my back while I deal with business and Junior keeps his brains inside his head.”

  “I think your father has just saved your life, young Farrell,” Tucker said into Junior’s ear. “Go and change your trousers. You stink of piss. Take him upstairs,” he ordered one of his men. “You have a deal, Farrell but if you cross me, you and your son are dog meat.”

  42

  Ade Burns looked at his computer. A map of the Shropshire Union Canal filled his screen. Steff Cain looked over his shoulder her perfume filling his nostrils. Ade couldn’t remember her wearing perfume for work and his detective’s brain computed that the perfume arrived just after Marcus Braddick did.

  “Where is he then?” Cain moaned. “I appreciate being kept in the loop but I want to hear it from the monkey not the organ grinder.”

  Ade raised his eyebrows at Google, who turned away smiling. “Organ grinder?” he repeated. “That is not a phrase I would use in front of everyone in this building. Some people might be offended.”

  “
Especially that little brunette DC in Vice,” Google added. “What’s her name again?”

  “Belinda,” Ade grinned.

  “Now there is an organ grinder,” Google said taking off his glasses. “Do you know that I heard she can...”

  “I don’t want to hear it!” Cain said sticking her fingers in her ears. “Please just tell me what I need to know and let me get back to my own misogynists. You bloody men are all the same.”

  Ade shrugged and pointed to the screen looking a little disappointed. “The chop-shop is here on this section of canal. South from here they could access the Bridgewater Canal here or the Trent and Mersey Canal here. If they stay on this route then they could be anywhere on the Cheshire Ring which is here.” He looked up at her blank face. She looked back at him and shrugged.

  “So you’re telling me that there could be a shipment of drugs on a canal boat, which could be on that canal or it could be on that canal or it could even be on this canal, which is basically a big circle around Cheshire?” she frowned. “How much canal is that?”

  “That stretch is sixty miles and that stretch is about ninety,” Ade smiled sarcastically.

  “So there could be some drugs somewhere on these one hundred and fifty miles of waterways which just happen to run through some of the most unpopulated areas of Britain, none of which are in my jurisdiction?”

  “In a nutshell.”

  “Tell Braddick thanks very much,” Cain said, walking off in a huff.

  “Will do,” Ade called after her. “Thanks for your time!”

  “Fuck you, Ade,” she said flicking him her middle finger.

  “In my dreams,” Ade muttered beneath his breath.