by Jack Slater
NO MIDDLE GROUND
by
JACK SLATER
A missing father. A desperate daughter. A terrible discovery.
A new case is the last thing DS Pete Gayle needs right now, but when it falls right into his lap, he has no choice. Justice is crying out to be served. With a career-making trial about to begin and his son in imminent danger from a pair of psychopathic brothers, Pete goes on the hunt in what could turn out to be the biggest case of his life.
In memory of my mother Jacqueline who sadly never saw this one completed.
Jack Slater asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the author.
ALSO BY JACK SLATER
The Venus Flaw
Nowhere To Run
No Place To Hide
No Going Back
JACK SLATER
Raised in a farming family in Northamptonshire, England, the author had a varied career before settling in biomedical science. He has worked in farming, forestry, factories and shops as well as spending five years as a service engineer.
Widowed by cancer at 33, he recently remarried in the Channel Islands, where he worked for several months through the summer of 2012.
He has been writing since childhood, in both fiction and non-fiction. No Middle Ground is his fifth crime novel in the DS Peter Gayle mystery series.
CHAPTER ONE
‘Hello, boss. Nice chat?’ DC Dave Miles looked up as Pete returned to his desk from the DI’s office at the far end of the squad room.
‘What’s that doing there?’ Pete asked, ignoring the question and nodding at the police radio chattering at Dave’s side.
‘Grey Man wanted the Archers but the rest of us thought Police Chase would be more fun.’
Grey Man was the station nick-name for the eldest of Pete’s team, DS Dick Feeney, who sat next to Pete at their cluster of desks.
‘So, who are we chasing?’
‘The Southam brothers. Graham spotted ‘em on CCTV, phoned Jane once he’d got some bodies in pursuit.’ Dave jabbed a thumb at DC Jane Bennett, sitting opposite.
‘Why the hell are you all sitting here, then, instead of out there after them?’ Pete demanded.
‘Waiting for you, boss. We didn’t think you’d want to miss out on all the fun.’
Pete grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair. ‘If we lose them because you were too busy playing silly buggers to get off your arse, Dave… Where are they?’
‘There’s three cars on them already, boss.’
The whole team were on their feet, intending to come with him if that’s what he wanted.
‘And Graham only called up a minute ago. Literally.’
Pete was sorely tempted to tell Dave to stay put and be their ears in the squad room but he was the only one of them who rode a motorbike rather than driving a car. Instead, he pointed at PC Jill Evans, cutting Dave off before he could explain further. ‘Jill. Stay here. Keep an ear to the radio. You can guide us in and keep us updated.’ He turned to Jane next as he grabbed the door and yanked it open. ‘Where are we headed?’
‘Graham spotted the elder brother on foot down by the court house, boss.’
She stepped through and Dave grabbed the door so Pete could walk beside her as she explained.
‘He guided Sophie Clewes and Mick Douglas in towards him.’ Jane took up the explanation. ‘When he spotted them, he legged it up towards the shopping centre. They gave chase. He went through onto the High Street. Of course, it’s market day. Bloody havoc up there. A pair of PCSO’s tried to cut him off but one got a fist in the face for his trouble. He knocked the other one over too and kept running. His brother picked him up in a car down by M&S. Graham said it was a miracle they didn’t hit anyone as they turned in off Queen Street.’
By now, they were approaching the custody suite at the back of the station.
‘He said their back tyres will have bald spot’s bigger’n Bob’s, there.’ Jane nodded to the uniformed sergeant behind the high desk.
‘I heard that. Just ‘cause you’re not in uniform, DC Bennet, doesn’t mean you can disrespect your superiors.’
‘Just reporting what I was told, Sarge,’ she called back as they headed for the back door.
‘So, cutting a long story short,’ Pete prompted as he slapped the green button by the back door, releasing it to let them out to the car park behind the station.
‘Yeah, they turned right at the bottom. There was a squad car at the second bridge when the shout went up. Tried to cut them off but got rammed for his trouble. There were two by Central Station that joined in and a team had just finished with a domestic on Prince of Wales Road, so they got involved, too.’
Pete took his car key from his pocked and pressed the remote locking button. ‘So, after all that, where are they?’
‘As we left, they’d just crossed the river towards Foxhayes and turned left, back towards the rugger field.’
‘Let’s see if we can meet them down there, then, and if not, we can spread out and flood the area. Have Rapid Response been called in?’
‘Not that I know of,’ Jane replied.
Good, Pete thought. I want these buggers to myself, if possible. He ducked into his silver Mondeo and clipped his radio to the holder on the dashboard, switching it on to receive transmissions from the pursuit he was about to join.
Jane’s little green Vauxhall was two cars over to his left. Ben and Dick were spreading out across the small car park. As he started the car, he saw Dave step out of the back door, now clad in his black leathers and full-face helmet. By the time Pete had reached the bottom of the drive down the side of the station, Dave was directly behind him on his big, black bike, engine rumbling like a tiger with its eyes on its next meal.
Pete pulled out, turning right towards the ring-road and Dave roared past him, swung left at the roundabout and was gone from sight into the red brick canyon of Western Way.
If they could catch the Southam brothers – or even just one of them – it would be a major weight off his mind after the threats the elder one had made to Tommy which, given their reputation, he knew were all too real. Only the younger of the two had been convicted for child sex offences but they were both known for extreme violence that went far beyond cold-blooded murder. They actively enjoyed making their victims suffer as much as possible. It wasn’t just for his own sake and that of his family that Pete wanted them off the streets. It was for the sake of every law-abiding citizen in the land. While they were walking free, anyone and everyone who stood in their way or crossed their path however innocently was at risk.
These two were the very definition of psychopathic.
*
Pete was about to drive off the western end of the downstream one of the pair of big, white suspension bridges that dominated the centre of the city when the radio fixed to his dashboard sparked into life. Traffic was light at this time on a Thursday, the rush-hour long over and the lunch time peak yet to get started.
‘Target right, right, right into Fe
rgusson Road.’
A residential street on the far side of the river from the city centre, it went up the steep hill into a huge estate of 1930’s housing that looked down towards the river and the city beyond. Notorious as a hotbed of drugs and violence and containing a high proportion of the city’s single mothers and benefit recipients, it was the estate where they’d finally arrested Gagik Petrosyan, the Armenian drug lord whose trial was scheduled in another couple of weeks.
Pete had a busy time in court coming up from tomorrow.
The Southam brothers must have crossed at the first bridge they’d come to and cut back south at the far side.
‘DC Miles to pursuit. I’ll take Davidson Road.’
Davidson ran parallel to Fergusson.
Pete reached for the transmit button. ‘DS Gayle. I’ve got Cowick Street.’ He checked his mirrors. ‘Dick, you stick with me but hang back, take the first right after the two lanes merge and stop there to box them in.’
‘Right, boss.’
‘Target left, left, left into Appletree Crescent,’ the next report came from the pursuit car.
Pete hit the transmit button again. ‘Dave?’
‘Two seconds, boss.’
He was almost in place to cut them off.
Pete headed up the westbound section of Cowick, which was divided for several metres after the merger with Alphington by a metal barrier. If they came out this way, planning to head towards Okehampton, he’d have a march on them before they even knew it. He checked his mirrors again. Dick was several yards behind him while Jane and Ben had already gone from sight in the same direction as Dave, planning to block two more of the streets into and out of the estate where the brothers were trying to lose them.
His radio hissed again but nothing came out of it. Then: ‘Lost visual. Repeat, lost visual on Appletree.’
He could hear the disappointment and confusion in the voice even through the rough reception.
Pressing transmit again, he said, ‘Check the parking area in front of the shops along there.’
‘Roger.’
They couldn’t have gone far. There were no other turn-offs between the pursuit car and Dave’s position.
‘Dave?’
‘Nothing this end, boss.’
‘Well, a two-ton white Audi A5 doesn’t vanish into thin air, guys.’
Again, someone hit the transmit button but changed their mind before speaking. Seconds later came the report: ‘They’re not by the shops. We’ve lost contact.’
‘Shit!’ Pete slammed his hands on the steering wheel. An opportunity lost. Where the hell were they? How had they managed to elude a car that was only yards behind them? He hit the button on the radio. ‘Find that car, people.’
‘Sarge.’
‘Shit,’ he cursed again.
They’d find the car all right. How could they not? But as for the Southam brothers, that was a different matter. He had no doubt that they’d have ditched it by now. It was just a question of where they’d gone afterwards.
*
‘There aren’t any side-streets off Appletree, are there? Just the delivery yard behind the shops.’
Pete had pulled over half way up the hill, near the far end of the busy shopping area, before housing took over either side of the road. From here, he could see the last of the exits from the estate where the Southam brothers had gone to ground. He watched the traffic and the pedestrians around him as he spoke into the radio.
‘Affirmative, Sarge.’
‘And we’ve got both ends covered so they can’t go anywhere without us seeing them so, where are they?’ He demanded. ‘Find that car.’
A pause.
‘Right, Sarge.’
‘You hesitated there, car four seven zero. Explain.’
Another brief silence. ‘There’s one like it in a driveway, Sarge. Third house in on the right. But it’s a different reg. We looked and confirmed.’
‘Run it anyway. Make sure it’s legit.’
‘Roger.’
‘Dave and Jane, make sure you can see the occupants of any and every vehicle leaving that street.’
‘Roger.’
‘Will do, boss.’
Silence resumed briefly until the radio hissed again. ‘It flags as nicked, Sarge. But there’s no-one in it. We’re on foot to take a closer look. We’ll give the house a knock. There’s another vehicle beside the Audi on the drive that is legit.’
‘These two are known as dangerous. Are either of you armed?’
‘No, Sarge. Just batons.’
Pete almost told the two officers to hold off, wait for support, but that would risk losing the Southam brothers. He couldn’t bring himself to make that call. There was too much at stake. ‘Draw them and use extreme caution.’
‘Acknowledged.’
If either of them – or the occupants of the house for that matter – got hurt in the next few minutes, it was Pete’s neck on the block, but what else could he do? The two men from Wiltshire were a danger to the public every second they were out of custody. Any opportunity to arrest them or hinder in their escape from justice had to be taken.
He knew what station chief DCI Silverstone’s answer to that would be, but he wasn’t out here calling the shots. In fact, he rarely stepped out here into the real world of policing. He was too busy trying to keep his own career on-track to bother with the lower echelons of society or the men and women he was in charge of.
The radio sparked again. ‘They were here, Sarge. Did a runner through the back. We’ve found one of the false plates they’d got on the Audi.’
‘Are you sure they’ve gone?’
‘Affirmative. They went over the back fence towards the properties fronting Okehampton Road.’
‘Received. Ben, have you seen any movement?’
‘Nothing yet, boss.’
‘OK. Four seven zero, witness statements, evidence collection and get that car picked up. Everyone else, eyes peeled. They’ve got to come out somewhere.’
He hoped.
If they’d decided to stay put and hide, it would be a matter of more boots on the ground, including armed response, to dig them out. More resources, more time wasted, more arguments with Fast-track Phil, AKA DCI Silverstone, to get it all agreed.
*
As Pete sat at the side of the busy road, eyes peeled for any sign of the two men they were trying to track down, waiting for events to unfold that he was nominally in charge of – at least in DCI Silverstone’s eyes – he was all too aware of what lay further up the road, around the bend and beyond the little roundabout just over the brow.
Even as he watched the pedestrians and drivers going about their busy lives, unaware of the drama unfolding around them, he couldn’t help picturing the little convenience store where Malcolm Burton had left Tommy as their association ended shortly before his arrest half a year ago.
Half a year! In some ways it had flown by, seeming more like six days than six months. But in others, it had felt endless – almost as endless as the previous six months while Tommy was missing. His wife Louise had sunk into the depths of a depression that had left her almost incapacitated - to the extent that their ten-year-old daughter Annie had felt the need to take over much of the routine of the house, swapping roles with her mother in many respects.
Pete was still amazed at, and eternally grateful for, the strength of character she’d shown over those awful months of uncertainty and fear.
He used his mobile phone through the vehicle’s Bluetooth system. ‘Jill. Third house back from the Fergusson Road junction off Okehampton Road. We need occupant details and any vehicles they own.’
‘Two secs, boss.’
He heard the tapping of keys and moments later she was back. ‘Mr and Mrs Turnbull aged sixty-one and fifty-seven. They’ve got a 2009 Skoda Roadster, blue in colour.’ She read him the registration plate.
Thank God for small mercies, he thought. The Roadster wasn’t exactly a boy-racer’s vehicle. He’d driven one onc
e. It had a job to do nought to sixty in ten minutes and eighty was physically impossible.
‘Thanks, Jill.’ He ended the call and keyed the radio.
‘All units, suspects have entered the property of Mr and Mrs Turnbull. They own a blue Skoda Roadster, index...’
The radio hissed, breaking over him. ‘Boss, its Ben. They just left, heading away from me.’
Dammit! ‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive, boss. I didn’t see faces, obviously, but it must have been them.’
‘Did you see them enter the vehicle?’
‘Negative, the hedge is too high.’
‘Check the property. Now. All other units, get after them.’
He released the button on the radio and called Jill again on his mobile. ‘Jill, get onto Graham. Get him to find and track that car.’
‘Right, boss.’
She broke the connection as Pete switched on the engine, hit the lights and sirens and swung his car around in the busy street to join the chase.
*
‘One car for cover, still two-nine miles per hour,’ Ben reported over the radio. He was trying to keep the bright blue car in his sights without revealing his presence to its occupants until backup could catch up with him so there were enough bodies to take the brothers without risking harm either to themselves or any members of the public.
‘Received.’
His phone rang, jangling through the Bluetooth system.
‘Shit.’ The last thing he needed now was a distraction. He checked the screen of his ringing phone. The number was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He hit the green icon. ‘PC Myers.’
‘Ben, its Sally Hanson. I need to talk to you.’
His eyes flashed wide in shock. He hadn’t heard from her in God knew how long and suddenly she was calling him out of the blue. How – or why - had she even still got his number? ‘Sally? Jesus! How long’s it been? What’s up?’
‘It’s been a while, I know. Too long. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have bothered you now, but it’s my dad. He’s disappeared. I went round his house earlier and I found something. Something bad.’