by Jay Nadal
35
Door-to-door enquiries in the vicinity of the arson attacks had offered little clues. The majority of those questioned hadn’t seen or heard anything. One or two residents were more vocal, expressing that the immigrants shouldn’t be let into the country in the first place, let alone given priority over housing allocation.
It’s what Scott had expected. He could feel an undercurrent of tension, but that tension had nothing to do with his case. Fire investigation officers from the fire service were conducting a detailed search of both properties to identify any further evidence.
Scott had avoided Tracey Collins’s pleas for an interview, or exclusive. An attractive woman, Miss Collins used her assets well. She had a charming disposition and always dressed professionally. With her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, her smooth complexion offered the perfect backdrop to a brilliant pearly smile. She was petite, slim, and attractive in Scott’s opinion. Scott had ignored her suggestion on more than one occasion for a drink after work to form, as she put it, a stronger working relationship. Scott was long in the tooth to fall for that ploy. Mike or Raj, on the other hand, wouldn’t need to be asked twice.
Helen and Raj had been working back in the office whilst the rest of the team attended the fire. Helen had left a note on Scott’s desk whilst she popped out for lunch. Scott had to read the note twice, in case his eyes were playing tricks on him.
Two of the firms that Alistair Woodman had been helping were gold importers. Scott fired an email back to Helen asking her to dig out anything on those two firms. A ripple of excitement raced through Scott’s veins. He was certain that there was a connection between the MP and his vested interest in the asylum seekers.
“What makes you so sure?” Meadows asked.
“Sir, we have at least two asylum seekers dead. Two of the seven had attended hospital with crippling pains. We’ve also got an asylum seeker that’s come forward to say that Pastor Xabi used them as mules to smuggle gold into the UK. Add to that, we’ve got Woodman’s support for deporting asylum seekers, some of which have been used as mules. And Woodman is helping gold importers.”
“That’s all well and good, Scott. We’ve got nothing on paper.” Meadows tapped each reason on a separate finger. “You’ve got no formal witness statement. You’ve got no paper trail linking Woodman to Xabi, or to the gold importers. It’s too tenuous at the moment. Get me that information, and I’ll escalate this for you.”
Scott was just about to continue when Meadows’s phone rang. He answered and listened before hanging up. “You’re needed downstairs. Uniform has made a sighting. They believe it to be Daniel Johnson.”
Scott took the stairs two at a time. His heart pounded in his chest, thoughts tumbling through his mind. The case careered in all directions. He burst through the doors of the incident room to see the team gathered around Abby’s desk.
“Guv, a patrol car reported in to say that they’ve had a sighting of a man matching Daniel Johnson’s description. They are following at a discreet distance, and waiting for further instructions from us. The suspect is carrying what appears to be a large blue IKEA bag over his shoulder. Shall I tell them to move in?”
The team was poised for Scott’s next move.
“Tell them not to move in. Just to follow him until we get there. They can’t lose him. Make that bloody clear to them.”
The team kicked back their chairs and raced to their desks to grab radios and stab jackets. They were out of the building in less than five minutes. A sense of urgency spurred them on as they raced down the stairwell and into the station car park at the rear.
Two blue job cars screamed through town, the wail of their sirens bounced off the tall buildings. The blue flashing grill lights signalled their intention as cars and buses scrambled to move to clear the roads. Scott and Abby led in the first car, followed by Mike, Raj, and Helen in the second.
The running commentary given by the uniformed officers confirmed that the suspect was now travelling by van and heading north out of town. A PNC check confirmed the owner was Daniel Johnson. The news heightened the tension in both cars as they closed in on one of their suspects. Once out of the city centre, they raced along the A27. The patrol car confirmed that they were heading in the direction of Offham, and were minutes away.
Scott and the team were a good fifteen to twenty minutes behind, and racing to catch up. Abby put in a request for a NPAS unit overhead. Haywards Heath was the nearest but tied up on a job. Not encouraged by the news, the team pressed on.
The patrol car had come to a stop outside of Offham. The suspect had pulled up several hundred yards ahead, and had made off on foot into the edge of the forest, the large bag slung over his shoulder. Scott instructed the officers to follow on foot, but at all costs to avoid being seen. Scott hoped that the suspect would head towards the location of the shed once again where they could contain him. With little daylight left, the team needed to act fast or risk losing him in the darkness.
They pulled up behind the patrol car, and grabbed some torches before heading off on foot, whilst maintaining radio contact with the officers trailing Daniel. The team zigzagged one way, and then went another way, through trees and out into open land before heading back into the dense, darkened woodland again.
The team found the two uniformed officers looking around. “We’ve lost him, Guv. He went all over the shop. One minute he was here, next minute he was there. And then he went around some tall trees and bushes, and by the time we followed up behind, there was no sign of him.” The officers held out their hands apologetically. “It’s just like he disappeared.” Dejection and embarrassment riddled their faces.
“We know where he is going. You head back to the road and keep an eye on his van.”
The team spread out in a thin line, and continued to pick their way through the forest. Mike guided them as he followed the path he had trodden on his last visit. It twisted and turned as they trekked through corridors of trees that disappeared into the gloom until Mike reached a familiar bend. The overhead canopy cast an eerie silent gloom that forced the officers to focus hard on a camouflage of greens. Mike darted off to his right followed by the others, who dipped below low-hanging branches. The track opened out into a clearing where up ahead the familiar outline of the shed came into view.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Scott shouted as he opened the shed door.
The suspect had already come and gone in the time that had elapsed since losing sight of him. Mike and Raj scanned the surrounding area in case he was hiding out. Abby and Helen ventured in. The suspect had been spooked by the absence of the hanging dog carcass, and the various Tupperware containers that had all been removed. Various paraphernalia had been scattered as he left with a sense of urgency.
Abby came running out of the shed, and headed to the forest edge. Loud retching sounds came from behind a bush.
Helen followed out after her. “She found the head of a dog in the corner.”
Scott scanned the floor to find tea lights, wine glasses, red velvet cloth, a box of matches, and what appeared to be an animal skull with small antlers. “At least we know the contents of his IKEA bag, and it wasn’t some matching IKEA cushions. All the things you would need for a sacrificial ritual.”
Scott was just about to radio the uniformed officers when his radio crackled to life. The suspect had returned to his van with the blue bag folded under his arm, and was now on the move followed by the patrol car. Just in case the suspect returned, who they assumed to be Daniel, Scott instructed Mike to stay put by the shed until backup arrived.
The team was back on the blues as they raced back towards Brighton, listening to the running commentary given by officers. Scott felt frustrated that the suspect appeared to be one step ahead of them. Rush hour traffic had now built up in town, slowing their progress. The town centre had a reputation for being congested most of the time, and it was certainly living up to it as they crawled back. They made their way to Preston Park where the su
spect had left his vehicle, and sat on a bench nervously looking around and glancing at his phone.
Tension ratcheted up as Scott and Raj split to take their cars in different directions to circle around Preston Park. They maintained covert obs on the suspect. With darkness creeping in, maintaining a clear line of sight would prove difficult unless they were on foot. Scott held his position out of sight whilst the other car continued to drive back and forth.
Helen came on the radio to say that the suspect was on the move and heading north in his van. She had exited the car, and walked past the suspect as he sat on a bench. She ID’d him as Daniel Johnson. Within minutes, Daniel was weaving in and out of traffic, overtaking stationary traffic and jumping through red lights. The threat to life played on Scott’s mind as Raj struggled to keep up with Daniel. Scott was positioned on the wrong side of Preston Park, and was attempting to catch up. Daniel’s erratic driving caused pedestrians to jump out of the way, and oncoming cars to swerve out of his path.
The radio jumped to life as Scott heard the words he dreaded most. “I’ve lost him, Guv. I repeat, I’ve lost him. I’m circling around to see if he’s dipped down a side road.”
Scott caught up with Raj, and agreed on the areas they would drive around. For all they knew, Daniel could be holed up in a side street waiting, or he could be halfway out of town by now.
Twenty minutes had passed when the search came to an abrupt halt as confusion erupted over the airwaves once again. Mike whispered, “He’s here; he’s here!”
Abby stared at Scott with a startled look.
“Who’s there, Mike?” There was an uncomfortable pause. “Come on, Mike, talk to me.”
It seemed an eternity before Mike responded in another soft whisper. “It’s an IC3 male. I’m too far away to see who it is. He’s carrying a suitcase. Standby.”
Scott stared at his handset as if it would talk on its own.
“He’s stopped outside the shed…he’s peering in. Wait…” There was another uncomfortable pause that seemed to go on for minutes. “He’s looking around. I’m keeping my head low. He’s…he’s going in.”
Abby mouthed the words Mabunda or Xabi. She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head in consternation.
Scott shrugged not knowing the answer. “Have uniformed backup arrived?”
“Negative.”
“Fuck!” Scott thumped the steering wheel. “We’re on our way. These fuckers are giving us the round around,” he fumed.
It was time to call in the cavalry. With such a large geographical area to cover, the odds were stacked against them. Scott instructed the control room to send more units to back them up and head towards Offham.
“Guv, the IC3 is leaving. I repeat the IC3 is leaving. Await further instructions, over.”
“Any further update on the ID?”
“That’s a negative, Guv. It’s way too dark.”
Scott glanced across at Abby.
“We won’t get a second chance, Guv,”
As if reading Abby’s thoughts, Mike came over the airwaves again. “This is fucking stupid. I’m moving in, Guv. We can’t afford to let him get away.”
“Mike, I’m not comfortable with that. You’ve got no backup, and we don’t know if he’s armed.” A flashback of Sian with no backup raced through his mind.
“It’s a risk I’m prepared to take, Guv. We’ve worked too hard. If this is Xabi, then we’ve got the whole of Brighton nick looking for him, and he’s right in front of me.”
“Okay, Mike. Approach with caution. If you’re able to apprehend him easily, then do so. If he resists or is carrying, you back off immediately, do you understand? We are on our way. I repeat we are on our way,”
Mike crept out from behind some bushes and approached with stealth. He remained low, taking one footstep at a time, careful to avoid detection. It reminded him of his days in Afghanistan when a suicide bomber had crept up close to where a British Army unit was assisting in the monitoring of a roadside checkpoint. The suicide bomber had a child with him, and a sniper’s shot would have been too risky.
Mike abandoned his rifle, and crept out of the building and down the road. He worked his way through the broken ruins until he came within feet of the bomber. Each foot had to be carefully placed to avoid disrupting the rubble and broken glass which would have revealed his presence. With his knife in one hand, he inched closer. He heard the man’s last breath as he placed his arm around the man’s head in a tight headlock and drew his blade across his neck.
That day he had saved a young Afghan boy’s life, and a patrol of eight British Army personnel, and their Afghan counterparts.
Back in the present, he shoulder-charged the man, sending him flying to the ground. Scrambling to his knees, he attempted to throw himself on top of the man, but the suspect rolled over on to his back and blew some dust through a small six-inch pipe into Mike’s face.
Mike rolled on to his back and screamed in pain. His eyes stung like lemon juice had been sprayed in them. His lips tingled, the inside lining of his nose burnt, and he coughed and spluttered as the substance scratched and irritated his throat.
He tried to open his eyes, but the searing pain stopped him. Unsure of the suspect’s location, his mind swirled. He heard the man mutter in some foreign dialect before he slipped in and out of consciousness. Every one of his senses urged him to get up and fight, but his face felt like he had fallen head first into a beehive full of bees and been stung a thousand times.
As Mike writhed on the ground, the black man disappeared into the darkness of the night.
36
Feeling pleased with himself, Daniel traipsed back through the woods and made his way towards the shed. The plans for a meetup hadn’t gone the way he had hoped. Having discovered his shed, he knew the police were closing in on him. They’d made it so obvious when they walked past him, the daft bitch reaching for her radio when she thought she was out of sight.
He decided to clear anything of value in the shed before moving to a new location. The quicker he did that, the quicker he could be away, just in case they were still following him.
Within sight of the shed, he stopped mid-step. A sound. A moaning, wincing sound that at first, he couldn’t make out. Perhaps an injured animal. That being the case, maybe he’d have one last chance to practise his new craft. He still had a large penknife in his pocket. It wasn’t perfect for the job. It would make it messy, but it would be fun.
The sounds grew louder as he crept through the undergrowth. He approached with caution. If it was an injured animal, he wouldn’t want to frighten it off. He peered into the abyss. The darkness of the woods was chilling, haunting, and shadowy. As his eyes strained to focus in the blackness, he saw the source of the noise. It was longer than he thought, perhaps a deer. They were about that size. And then he saw clarity. Human legs.
Daniel stood above Mike, who groaned in his semi-conscious state. Mike gripped his face in his hands, a muffled moan erupting from between his fingers.
Daniel couldn’t believe his luck. He had experience of taking animals, and small humans, but had never tried with a grown man. His heart quickened, his mind racing with the endless possibilities. Damn, damn, he thought. Time was against him. He wouldn’t be able to prepare in the way he had learnt. He would have to improvise. Yes. Improvise.
He raced back to the shed and looked for anything he could use. Thankfully, he could make do with the items littering the floor. Grabbing what he needed, he made his way back. Mike had pulled himself into a foetal position, tucking his knees close to his chest.
Using all his strength, Daniel grabbed Mike by his ankles and dragged him inch by inch towards the nearest trees. Mike’s weight and bulk proved a challenge. Daniel puffed large lungfuls of air. Each step back took him closer to the cover of a large tree. A defenceless Mike couldn’t struggle, incapacitated by whatever noxious substance he had come into contact with. The hulking former soldier was at the mercy of a nineteen-year-old nutcase.
Daniel heaved Mike up into a seated position, and leant him back against the tree. With the rope he had retrieved from the shed, he secured Mike’s hands behind him and around the tree trunk, and tied his ankles together. Mike groaned once again as his head lolled forward. Daniel carefully lit several candles, and positioned them in a circle around the base of the tree. He placed the animal skull with small antlers to the left of Mike, a small bundle of herbs placed to the right. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his penknife. Its silver blade flickered in the candlelight.
“Amandla avela empilweni entsha,” he repeated as he glanced towards the darkened sky. His chants became louder as he summoned the gods.
Oblivious to his surroundings, and in a trance of his own, Daniel missed the transmission coming through Mike’s radio.
Scott and Abby pulled up by the forest edge. Approaching blue lights signalled the backup that Scott needed. Much to his relief, he could hear NPAS in the distance. Raj and Helen were sixty seconds away, having tagged on behind a squad car as it carved its way through the traffic.
“Mike, are you okay? I need a sit rep from you now.” Only crackling static fired back at Scott. The signs weren’t good. “Mike, come in. If you can’t talk, press the red button.”
The eerie darkness of the night sky heightened Scott’s tension. He could feel the fear in his chest clawing at him, waiting to take over. He let out a slow, controlled breath, and attempted to loosen his body movements as he and Abby made their way over the uneven ground. His eyes moved with the alertness that came from the stress that bore down on him, his hands remaining clenched by subconscious demand and fear. Mike not responding worried him. Thoughts of “not again” raced through his mind. A vision of Sian not responding sent waves of dread creeping over him like an icy chill, numbing his brain. In this frozen state of mind, one thought remained, please be alive.