The George Elms Trilogy Box Set

by Charlie Gallagher

  * * *

  Stan stood out in the middle of the barn. The sun had burned through the mist entirely now. Its light penetrated the gaps and holes in the ancient walls, and the dust swirled and fell in the rays of sunlight like tiny snowflakes. Stan was tired and needed a minute to rest. He sat on the big wooden lock box he had dragged across the floor into the centre of the barn. It had once held larger items of horse tack. It had been the perfect size. He had used it to reach the exposed wooden beam along which he’d strung the chicken wire. The barn contained no shortage of tools, and the nail gun had proven especially useful — although his shoulders now ached after working with his arms raised above his head.

  Once rested, Stan climbed tentatively back up onto the box and tested the wire loop. It felt strong. He tugged on it with both hands then lifted the whole of his frail body from the floor. It took his weight. It didn’t budge. The wire finished two thirds of the way along the wooden beam, right at the point where he reckoned Janice had dragged him on that night when they had first met. He’d been sitting on a bale of hay against the left wall. The musicians had been at the back and kegs of lukewarm cider and ale were against the wall where the kitchen now stood. She had walked him out onto the dance floor in the middle of the barn. When he’d hesitated, she’d taken hold of his right hand and placed it on her hip. That moment when they touched was still as fresh in his mind as when it happened. Over sixty years later. The sun was on his face now. He closed his eyes to it, his face creased in a smile.

  He turned away from the wire so that he was facing out towards the front where the huge wooden door was ajar and he felt the loop rock against his back. He reached behind him and slipped the loop over his head. The wire felt cold against his neck and shoulders. He knew chicken wire; he’d fenced his whole estate with it more than once and he’d cut plenty of trapped livestock from its clutches. He knew it to be unforgiving. Stanley didn’t want forgiveness; he was past caring about that. He just wanted the darkness. He stepped to the edge of the box with just his heels balancing on the rim. He took a last breath in through his nose, inhaling the scent of his farm, of his whole life. He shut his eyes to the memory of everything. Then he stepped forward.

  * * *

  The lift reached the bottom floor. Jenny felt the sensation of movement as it slowed and finally settled. The doors jerked apart. The police officer, George Elms, was already moving away from her, his head still down. She found herself making a noise from her throat that was entirely unintentional. She also stepped towards him but he gave no reaction, showed no sign he had even registered her existence. Then he stepped out of the lift and turned hard right. She felt an arm across her chest, holding her back as the lift doors slipped shut again.

  The lift shivered and then there was movement upward. Her last chance was gone.

  Chapter 20

  George was in a hurry to leave. He stopped to give his number to the woman behind the front counter. She assured him that she would make contact if she noticed either of the families come back. George’s phone buzzed in his pocket as he strode away from the hotel. It had been going off almost non-stop. His wife was pulling out of the afternoon’s arrangements, it would mean he’d miss out on seeing his daughter for the first time in nearly a year — on her birthday. It buzzed again, longer this time. He ignored the call. He couldn’t speak, not while he was in a public space. He needed the privacy of the car. He got back to his vehicle and pulled the door firmly shut. He took a moment; calling her back was the last thing he wanted to do. He just didn’t have the energy. He knew it would descend into an argument; there was no way for it to do anything else. He was so angry.

  He checked the phone, expecting another angry message or an ultimatum to buzz through. Instead it showed a message from Emily. He had an earlier missed call from her too. He’d ignored her for the same reason he hadn’t answered his wife: it would surely end in an argument. The message from Emily didn’t appear to be angry at least. It said simply: I just need to know how it went. Did you get anything you can use? Or, more important, did you manage to protect our handler?

  George typed out the only reply for which he could muster the energy: It went fine.

  He started the engine. He needed to go and see Stanley. They would need to go through his life in some detail: friends, family, friends of friends, tradesmen. Somebody Stan knew had come back in the dead of night and had killed his wife. Stanley Wingmore was the key to this, even if he didn’t know it yet. George stared out over the top of the steering wheel. Exhaustion seemed to have wrapped him like a dark mist. He wondered if he could find the energy to speak to Stan. He considered calling Paul Bearn and tasking him. The buzzing phone interrupted his musing.

  ‘Ryker.’ He answered, without thinking.

  Emily went straight on the offensive. ‘What the hell does that mean?’

  ‘What does what mean?’

  ‘It went fine? That tells me nothing.’

  ‘I guess I don’t have the time for full updates right now.’ George was grouchy.

  ‘What the hell is going on with you, George? Why are you treating me like shit all of a sudden?’

  ‘I’m sorry, okay? I’ve got a lot going on at the moment. I’m trying to get my head around it all.’

  ‘You think that makes it okay? We’re all busy people, George. I take it you mean this shit with your wife? She’s still torturing you by dangling your kid out like some carrot in front of a donkey?’

  ‘You don’t get to talk about my family, okay? You have no idea what’s going on. You have no idea what we’ve been through. She’s not dangling anything. We’re just trying to work it out.’

  ‘Like hell! You might be trying to work it out but she’s toying with you, George, and she has been for years. You need to call her bluff, tell her Charley’s your kid, too, and she has to accept that. There are laws, George. She can’t stop you seeing your kid.’

  ‘I tell you what, Ryker . . . when you get your own family you can have an opinion, okay? Until then you can keep your fucking nose out, you understand?’ George pushed the touch screen on the car’s display so hard it bent inwards and made a cracking sound. The call ended. George threw his head backwards into the headrest. Still not satisfied, he did it again but this time harder. He kept throwing his head back in a frenzy of movement, his eyes filled with tears of frustration. As he became still, they ran down his face.

  ‘Fuck!’ He said out loud. He stared at the screen. The call information was still on there. He pressed to call back. The call was picked up. There was silence at the other end. George knew there was someone there; he could hear a breath. He peered out of the side window. His eyes had lost their focus.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ryker. I am an arsehole. I’ve treated you like shit today, yesterday and before. A few times now. I take you for granted and I shouldn’t. I’m sorry. I fucked up, Ryker — this morning. I know the rules. I know that people can get hurt if you don’t follow them and I just carried on regardless. It’s not that I don’t care about other people — I just don’t care about myself enough to even think about them. About you. I kicked that man’s door in — Yarney. I was through it before I even stopped to think because I was angry with my wife. He gave me some information about where a suspect might be staying and I just bowled over there and started knocking on doors, talking to the receptionist, telling her I’m a copper. I know better, Ryker. I know that I should have called it in. We could have considered other options. But I didn’t. I didn’t because I was angry about my wife. I’ve missed a call this morning, Ryker, from Stanley. I convinced myself that I was so angry with what happened to him that nothing else mattered, that I could do what I wanted to find these people — and then he calls me up and I didn’t even answer his call. Now I don’t even have the guts to call him back or to go see him because I’m scared that he’ll know. He’ll know that I didn’t care enough. And I might be all he has at the moment. I’ve let him down, I’ve let you down, I let Andy McGuiness down. And
I’m not much closer. Not to finding the people that shot that woman and not to seeing my own daughter. I’m sorry, Ryker. You deserve better.’ George stared out of the window. Thirty seconds passed. The timer still ticked up on the screen.

  ‘Where are you, George?’

  ‘Dover. I should go and see Stan. One of the gang definitely knew him. That means that Stan knows him. Maybe I should task Paul — everything’s just out of control with me right now.’

  ‘Take your day off. Get your head clear. Maybe turn your phone off and start again tomorrow. You’re not going to get anything sorted today — with your wife or with your case. You’ll be a lot more productive after a day away.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right.’

  ‘Tell me what you did, what you know and I’ll feed it back to Paul. He can pick up any loose ends. Don’t worry about Yarney or McGuiness — I’ll smooth that out somehow.’

  ‘What I did? Well, I got to speak to Yarney. He was holding a knife towards me for most of it but he gave me some stuff I can use. Assuming any of it is true. He told me some of the same that he told his handler. Some gang of robbers crossed over the border to do a job out in the rural. He reckons that one of the gang is into the cocaine in a big way. He might have worked himself up a bit of a debt. Anyway, he’d picked out Wingmore Farm as a place for them to score big. He picked it out because he knew there was money there — a hundred grand apparently. And he knew Stan by name.’

  ‘So it had to be someone close.’

  ‘Yarney doesn’t know how he knows him? Maybe he’s an old farmhand, or it’s word of mouth even.’

  ‘Word of mouth wouldn’t make sense. They’re down from another county.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And it has to be someone close. If you have a hundred grand under your mattress you’re not likely to be chatting about it over a cup of tea with your sweep-up boy, are you?’

  ‘No. That’s true.’

  ‘What’s this about a receptionist? A hotel?’

  ‘Yarney got to hear that the crewmember who tipped them off about Wingmore Farm was staying in a hotel. He didn’t stay with the rest of the group because he had a wife and family with him.’

  ‘A family? So a gang of robbers set to work in the next county over and one of them brings his missus? Does that sound right to you?’

  ‘Well, no. Not when you say it like that. And a kid apparently.’

  ‘A kid?’

  ‘Yeah. He reckons they were staying in a hotel almost opposite Dover train station. It looked to me like the Dovorian was our best bet. I figured they might still be there or that there might be something known about them we could use. Yarney didn’t know the room number, but I went to try one or two where the receptionist said there were couples with kids.’

  ‘The Dovorian? How old did Yarney say the kid was?’ Emily suddenly sounded animated.

  ‘I didn’t ask to be honest.’

  ‘What about at the hotel? Did they say how old those kids were?’

  ‘Jesus, Ryker, I didn’t ask that either. I’m really not functioning today. I’ll get someone to go back over what I’ve done.’

  ‘George, the Dovorian is spitting distance from the shootings in Dover. The shootings where a woman seen running away left her baby on the bonnet of a police car!’

  George suddenly sat up. His mind clearing of the fog left by his frustration. ‘You think it’s the same girl!’

  ‘Well, of course I do! You need to sharpen up down there, George. This crew already has an issue with this lad. Then the job up at the farm doesn’t seem to have gone to plan. It’s not a giant leap to assume that it’s the same crew causing chaos at both locations, is it?’

  ‘No, Ryker, it isn’t at all. I’ll head back to Wingmore Farm. I’ll talk to Stan.’

  ‘What about going back into the hotel? Bottoming that out?’

  George looked out of his window at the drab exterior of the Dovorian. ‘Nah, she already has issues with me. I’ll send uniform.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re going to be okay, George? You should still have your day off’

  ‘We’ll soon see, Ryker. And what would I do with a day off now? I am sorry, though, yeah?’

  ‘Just as well. I was just about to call you an arsehole again. I don’t even know why I answered.’

  ‘I’m glad you did.’

  ‘Keep in touch.’

  Chapter 21

  George turned into the drive of Wingmore Farm and saw the marked police car as he rounded the curve. The officer standing next to it reacted immediately, waving his arms as if he was instructing George to pass straight through. He looked agitated and urgent. George pulled up alongside him and whirred his window down.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘He’s in the barn. Left at the house, sir. He’s still there — they’re working on him.’

  ‘Working on who? What’s going on?’

  ‘Are you here about Mr Wingmore?’

  ‘Well, yes, of course. What’s going on?’

  ‘He was found in the barn, sir. I had no idea he was going to do that. I’m waiting for an update, I didn’t know . . .’ The officer dropped his head and his whole body seemed to hang on its frame. George moved quickly away. He followed the curve of the drive round and the house came into view. He took the left fork in the track and passed the house. He could see the unmarked car Paul Bearn had been using and next to it was a first responder’s marked car and a full-sized ambulance. There was another marked police car further away. They all looked as if they had been parked hurriedly. George did the same and jogged into the barn.

  He saw Stan straight away. He was lying on the floor on his back with two paramedics kneeling over him. A third stood by with a bag of clear fluid from which a tube trailed into Stan’s arm. Paul was over to the far right of the barn and a woman was turned into him, sobbing quietly. Paul acknowledged George with a look. George moved over to Stan. His mouth was open at an unnatural angle, a thick plastic tube with an orange top stuck out of it. Stan’s eyes were open but George could see they had no focus. A machine beeped and flashed next to his head and two wires trailed to where his shirt had been cut open to reveal his chest. His tie had been cut off and was lying beside him. His suit jacket had been pushed open. George looked up to where a wire noose still hung. It had been fashioned crudely, but it was obvious what it was. George was suddenly aware of Paul at his shoulder.

  ‘Jesus, Paul, what the hell happened?’

  ‘I found him strung up. I picked him up by the legs, his poor daughter had to help me out. I was next to useless with one arm. She cut the wire from around his neck. She must have found something to do it with. There was still some life there then, but I think they’ve lost him again. It’s not looking good.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘I don’t know. It all happened in a blur. We’ve probably been here nearly half an hour now. I worked on him for a bit, best I could. Louise called 999. They must have been close — it didn’t seem long until they arrived.’

  ‘I should have predicted this. I should have read the signs.’

  ‘And done what? I’m here as his FLO. We sorted him out with a friendly face. There was nothing more we could have done. We can’t babysit him twenty-four hours a day. He knew his daughter was coming home today. I can’t understand why he would do it. Not now.’

  George flitted around the interior of the barn. ‘We’re sure he did? There’s no chance—’

  ‘What, that they came back? I considered the same. But when I came in this morning the lad on scene preservation told me Stan had got here an hour ago. Said he’d walked up and said he was going to the barn to make a cup of tea. We’ve had both entrances covered and an extra officer at the house. There’s no way anyone else has been here.’

  ‘But why now? Like you said, his daughter’s here this morning. You’d cling on for another day, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Grief, George . . . it’s a funny old thing.’

  ‘Poor old basta
rd. I really thought I could get him onside, get him to focus on helping us out. I thought if he had something to focus on then it would drag him through this. I was so wrong, Paul. I was so wrong.’

  ‘You can’t predict people pushed to the extremes of their emotions. This is just what happens. I’m not sure there was anything we could have done that would have had a different outcome.’

  ‘We need him, Paul. There have been some developments. It’s quite likely that he knows exactly who killed his wife.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I have no idea right now. I’ll fill you in when I can.’

  ‘What about his daughter? Would she be able to help?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t suppose she’s in the right frame of mind to talk right now either. Let’s see how Stan gets on. He’s a tough old bastard, I reckon.’

  ‘That much is true.’

  George looked over to where he could see one of Stan’s arms lying on the ground between the busy medics. His hand was palm up and fidgeting as the work on him continued. His skin was light grey and it looked as if it was made out of wax. George had seen that skin colour plenty of times before. Never on the living.

  * * *

  The man took hold of her and didn’t seem to want to let go. They stayed in the lift for just one floor then he pulled her out roughly onto the first-floor landing. He took hold of her hand and pulled it in close to his hip.