Sleaford Noir 1

by Morris Kenyon

CHAPTER 9.

   

  Wheelan fell quiet so I took advantage of his silence. "I'll give you time to decide. We meet in two hours," I said.

  "Where?"

  "Tell you nearer the time," I said, killing the connection. This was Wheelan's turf and I didn't want to give him time to prepare an ambush.

  Wheelan hadn't argued though. I didn't know if that was a good or bad sign.

  "You'll never get away with this, Hennessy," Mulhearn said.

  "Have done so far," I said before pressing more duct tape over his mouth and eyes and tightening his wrists. He wriggled but there was nothing he could do.

  Once again, I checked on Alexa and was pleased to see that the girl was breathing deeper now. I slapped her face, not so hard, and this time she stirred a little. I was glad about that as I didn't want to present Wheelan with a corpse. It would have made my night's work a whole lot more difficult. Not impossible, you understand, but more difficult than it needed to be.

  The light bled out of the sky. If it wasn't for the cloud cover, I'd have had a great view of the constellations. The cars and lorries never stopped along the A153 making a stream of light. And the wind never stopped its flat dirge over the Fens.

  It was getting colder but I didn't fancy sitting in the Cherokee with my two captives. So I wrapped my jacket tighter around my body and stood with my arms crossed but the searching fingers of the wind found every chink in my clothing making me shiver.

  Actually, I was glad to be disturbed from my thoughts by a knocking on the glass behind me. Alexa was tapping the side of her head against the window. I opened the door. The girl wriggled away from me. I leaned in and carefully unpeeled the tape from her mouth. She still winced as the fine downy hairs on her upper lip were torn away. Alexa licked her lips but her tongue was dry and coated with white. I held the bottle to her mouth and the girl drank greedily, thirstily until I removed it.

  "You all right, Alexa?" I asked, trying to put some compassion in my voice. Sure, I wanted Wheelan's daughter scared but not so terrified that she stopped being compliant. On the front seat, Mulhearn shifted position to face us. I don't know why as the man was still gagged and blindfolded.

  Then I noticed tears leaking out from under her taped down eyelashes. I put my hand on her shoulder in a friendly manner. She recoiled from my touch.

  "P.. p... please don't kill me, Hennessy. I'm s... so scared," Alexa cried.

  That was a given.

  "Listen, I'm not going to whack you, Alexa; nor you neither Mulhearn. Not if your Dad decides to be sensible and plays along. You think he'll do that?"

  Alexa nodded furiously, trying to convince herself. Mulhearn grunted something but I ignored the man for the time being.

  "If that's all," I said, about to tape the girl's mouth closed.

  "Wait... no," Alexa blushed furiously, her cheeks almost matching her hair dye. I paused. "I really need a wee. Please, I can't last out." Her surly indifference all gone now.

  I looked down at the girl sitting in the back seat so forlorn. She was no threat to me, especially not tied up.

  "Okay, but be quick," I told her. Alexa swung her legs out of the Cherokee and I helped her stand. I looked both ways up and down the country lane but nothing was coming.

  "If you're not going to untie me, you'll have to help me," Alexa murmured, her voice little more than a whisper lost in the unending whine of the wind. I was about to tell her to pee where she stood, pee in her pants and let it trickle down her legs but that wasn't fair on the girl. All the same, I felt like her nurse maid. Very carefully, not looking, I reached up under her skirt and pulled down her panties by the sides before holding her skirt away from her body as Alexa squatted by the Cherokee and did what she had to. Finished, Alexa stood to let me tug up her panties again.

  "Thanks," she whispered before I closed off her mouth again. As I helped Alexa back into the Cherokee, Mulhearn made more muffled demands.

  "I'm not doing the same for you, Mulhearn. Tie a knot in it," I told him. "Oh, you can't, can you? Never mind, we'll be finished soon."

  Mulhearn groaned. Tough. Glancing at my watch, I reckoned I'd given Wheelan enough time. I made the call.

  "Wheelan," he answered.

  "Back of the Bass Maltings. Just you and Claire. No-one else. Got that?"

  "Sure. Bass Maltings. Alexa had better be fine," Wheelan said.

  "What do you think I'd do to your girl?"

  Wheelan didn't reply to that. But I'd heard the eagerness in his voice as he confirmed the Bass Maltings venue. Which would be a big disappointment to Wheelan as the last place I wanted to meet him in the dark was Sleazeford's Bass Maltings.

  For sheer scale, dwarfing the little town of Sleaford, you can't beat the Bass Maltings. It's like a modern day builder placing a Manhattan sky-scraper in the middle of Sleaford's town centre. Totally out of scale – and totally unsustainable. Which is why the Bass Maltings have been closed and left empty since the 1960s. I heard there's recently been talk of restoring the Maltings and converting them.

  If you're not familiar with Sleazeford, the Bass Maltings are huge brewing malthouses that replaced all the other small breweries in the area. Sometime before the First World War, this was. There is a line of eight huge detached brick buildings together with a tower and chimney in the middle of them all. The total frontage is over three hundred yards. A really impressive slab of industrial architecture out in the middle of the pancake flat Lincolnshire countryside.

  But, like I say, the place went bust in the 1960s and is filled with rusting, abandoned machinery, deeply recessed doorways and windows and there are too many places where a marksman with a sniper rifle and night scope could hide and take me down. So no way was I meeting Wheelan anywhere within rifle shot of the Bass Maltings.

  I walked round to the driver's seat, did a three point turn and turned the Cherokee around. Back through Sleazeford. I saw some young man stagger across the road clutching a vodka bottle. He lobbed the empty at the Jeep Cherokee but it sailed past and shattered in the opposite gutter. The man then turned away and disappeared down a dark alley between two shops.

  "Nice place you have here," I said to my passengers. "Friendly."

  Once we had driven over the bridge past Sleaford's train station, I relaxed a little. Although I hadn't expected any trouble from Wheelan but I might have been eye-balled and followed as I drove through town. On the other side, I turned off London Road and onto Grantham Road, the B1517. The traffic was lighter now at this time of night.

  "Almost there," I told my passengers to keep up their spirits. A few minutes later, we turned right up Castle Causeway and onto my intended destination all along. Where I could keep control of the handover and not Wheelan.

  Sleaford Castle.

  You might be wondering why I rejected the Bass Maltings but chose Sleaford Castle instead. If you're thinking Sleaford Castle is like one of those huge medieval castles built to keep the Welsh under control such as Caernarfon or Conwy or Harlech then you'd be making a mistake. Maybe Sleaford Castle was like that once but no longer.

  All that's left now is some earthworks in a field together with a moat and a section of rubbled wall. At one end of the field is a copse of trees and bushes. And that's that. Over the centuries, the locals probably had it away with the castle's masonry to improve their cottages. It's funny to think that what was once so important is now barely a third rate tourist attraction.

  I pulled up opposite the site's entrance. As I expected, the metal barrier was padlocked, but a moment later I'd picked the lock with my L pry and swung the gate open. Turning the Jeep Cherokee onto the castle fields, I drove along the rough track and parked near the ruined wall. Perfect. Only one way in and out. No way could Wheelan sneak in some of his hoods to blindside me. My captives stirred themselves and sat up straighter. They knew they were nearly through. Stepping out of the Cherokee, I called Wheelan a second time.

  "Changed my mind, Wheelan, it's Sleaford Castle."


  Wheelan made some crack about how it was my privilege to change my mind at short notice but underneath I could tell the man wasn't happy about the change. But I was, which was what mattered.

  Keeping an eye on the only entrance, I stood and waited. A train thundered by to the south of the castle fields – a long tube of light and sound fracturing the night's darkness. It took longer than I expected for Wheelan to show. So I guessed he had set up a little 'meet and greet' party at the Bass Maltings. It's what I would have done in his place after all. Then a large off-road 4x4 turned up the dirt track leading to Sleaford Castle. The car flashed its lights the once. I got behind the Cherokee's wheel and flashed my lights in reply.

  "You two. Time to go. Out now," I told them. I opened their doors and helped them both out. Mulhearn slightly hunched over, groaning to himself. The man must be absolutely desperate by now. The chill air wouldn't help his bladder any. Taking a Swiss army knife, I knelt and cut the duct tape binding their ankles.

  "Walk," I told them, giving the pair a gentle shove in the right direction. They took slow hesitant steps, little more than a cautious shuffle as their hands were still bound behind them and their eyes taped shut. Strangely, it was the schoolgirl Alexa who seemed bolder than Mulhearn. Alexa stumbled over a tussock of rough grass and I caught her arm, steadying her. When we were about fifty yards from Wheelan's Mercedes M-class 4x4, I commanded that they stop. My captives did so and stood trembling slightly in the ever present wind. Alexa's skirt rustling around her knees.

  Taking out Alexa's mobile, I called Wheelan again. No-one had yet got out of the Mercedes-Benz and I couldn't see inside the vehicle.

  "We're here, Wheelan. Let's get this over with." As I spoke to Wheelan I heard Claire McTeague's voice carrying on in the background. Pleading and begging. It sounded like the woman wasn't happy about going home.

  "Come on Wheelan. I haven't got all night," I reminded him.

  The Mercedes door opened. I saw Wheelan's six foot two bulk as he crossed his headlight's beams and opened the passenger door. Despite the cold, Wheelan wore only a skinny rib tee shirt, the better to show off his muscles. He leaned in and gently helped Claire McTeague out. The woman was warmly dressed in a velour tracksuit, hoodie and wore white trainers. He spoke to her and then both started forwards towards my group.

  Immediately, I called Wheelan again. Even at that distance I heard his ringtone. Wheelan answered.

  "Only Claire McTeague, Wheelan. You know the drill – they meet half way and then keep walking. Remember, I hold all the aces here. Do you need me to spell it out? I'm armed and whacking your daughter, your lover and your second is less than nothing to me. Got that?"

  Wheelan got that loud and clear. To be honest, I didn't need to remind him but I just wanted it crystal to everyone. Poor Alexa shuddered and sunk her head into her shoulders as if she could feel the 9mm Parabellum blasting through her body, punching through her insides and sending her into eternity. Mulhearn groaned.

  Stepping forward, I pulled off the tape covering Alexa's eyes so she could guide Mulhearn. Her false lashes came with it and she cried out. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light and she focussed on her father's M-class. Wheelan waved to her.

  "You two can go now," I said giving them another push. "Good luck."

  As soon as they started walking, Wheelan nudged Claire McTeague. With a backward look at her lover, the woman started forward.

  So far, so good. Nice and easy. No dramas.

  My phone rang. Wheelan. I took the call. "Please, Hennessy," he started. I hated hearing the man beg. "Please, it doesn't have to be like this. Claire doesn't love McTeague no more – its me she wants. You must understand how she feels. Listen, one last chance, throw your hand in with me and I'll make you my second instead..." I laughed at this point. It was pathetic. "... my partner then. Equal shares. You and me, Hennessy, together. We're both younger than McTeague. He's yesterday's man, always going on about the club scene of the Eighties and Nineties. Battling the old Scouser gangs. What does he know about the future? Outsourcing..."

  I wasn't even tempted. McTeague had seen challengers like Wheelan come and go. Like an old oak, he'd stayed the course.

  "Listen Wheelan. I'll give you one tip. Wait for McTeague to calm down and then make him an offer." I finished the call. That was good advice. It wasn't my business but I reckoned once McTeague had lived with a woman who no longer loved him for a few months, he'd be open to a trade for her.

  By now, the three had met in the middle of the castle field. Claire McTeague spoke to Mulhearn, who nodded a couple of times before they crossed paths and then Claire was coming towards me. She walked slowly, carefully over the uneven ground. I looked over the field. When she was only a few yards away from her father's M-class, Alexa forgot caution and ran forwards into her father's arms and he enfolded her in a bear hug. A touching sight.

  Claire McTeague was almost up to me by now. I nodded politely and opened up the Cherokee's passenger door for her like any good chauffeur should.

  "Are you carrying?" I asked her before she got in.

  I didn't think she was as Claire was out of the life except for the good things men like McTeague and Wheelan were prepared to lavish on her in order that they could have her draped over their arm. I couldn't see the attraction myself.

  Claire shook her head and sniffed. Her eyes were red and watery. Whether from the cold or crying I neither knew nor cared. I patted her down anyway but the woman was clean.

  "In," I said. Before she sat down I showed her Mulhearn's bottle of Halothane and told her I'd have no problem with using it on her if that's what she wanted.

  Again, Claire shook her head, her carefully coiffured hair remaining in place.

  "You win Hennessy; you and McTeague. But it's wrong what you're doing."

  One sentence in and already I couldn't take any more of this drivel so I tuned into Lincs FM for something loud from the charts and drove over the bumpy field and then along the track. We passed Wheelan, who was still cuddling Alexa; and Mulhearn who was pissing like a horse, before rejoining Castle Fields road and then onto the B1517.

  We were leaving Sleaford on the A15 before I allowed myself to relax. Claire was going home. She sat quietly, apart from the occasional sniffle. Her hands rested in her lap. I'm not telling you which direction we headed nor how far I drove as the Serious Organised Crime Agency might find that information of use.