BLOOD MONEY a gripping crime thriller full of twists

by Charlie Gallagher

  The lift doors parted and Helen bustled into the confined space, jabbing at the button for the fourth floor, and ignoring the uniform officers nodding greetings. The doors clunked shut and she was on her own. She was relieved to find that the fourth floor was ghostly quiet. Her office door was closed, as she had left it, but the desk outside, which Jean normally occupied every second of the day, was empty. Even the lamp twisted over her keyboard that she used all day, was extinguished. It was all a little odd but it suited Helen. She wanted to get in and out again fast and the last thing she wanted was a conversation with anyone. Helen pushed her door. The first thing she saw was her monitor, lit up and unlocked, showing a page she didn’t immediately recognise.

  ‘Ma’am,’ he said. His tone was confident and angry, certainly not that of someone who had just been caught out. Helen looked at the man facing her computer screen.

  It took a few seconds to put a name to the face. ‘Paul Bearn. What the hell are you doing in my office?’

  ‘I needed your computer.’ Paul replied calmly.

  Using a senior officer’s personal computer? He should be shitting bricks right now.

  ‘You needed my computer? Do you realise the implications of coming in here and using my computer?’

  ‘I do. Only too well.’

  ‘I will be taking this up formally, PC Bearn. You will face action for this—’

  ‘The implications,’ Paul cut in, ‘are a man released from jail. And, who knows, maybe you replacing him there.’

  Helen’s anger admitted a flicker of self-doubt, not quite panic — yet. Her eyes flicked back to her screen. She recognised what was there. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Your PA helped me unlock your computer. She knew your password. I didn’t even know you had children.’

  ‘Why would you? Now I suggest you get out of here, PC Bearn, right now. Every second you delay will make things worse for you.’

  ‘DC.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘DC,’ Paul repeated. ‘I’m a detective constable.’

  ‘I don’t really think that is the issue right now, is it?’

  ‘I disagree. It’s the detective part of me that has kept me going all this time. Despite you trying to keep me away from any sort of detective work, any work at all, actually, I carried on investigating, ma’am. I carried on investigating what happened that night when my mate got shot. You remember Sam, right?’

  Helen sniffed. ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Well, she was killed by someone, but it wasn’t George Elms. I know that and, from looking at your computer, you knew it too.’ Paul gestured at the monitor. ‘This is the CSI database, where they upload all their findings from crime scenes. They then share with us what they need to share and your rank affects what you see, for the major stuff at least. Accessing it on your PC, for example, means that I can see anything I want to.’

  ‘And what did you see that has filled you with this misguided view?’ Helen sneered.

  Paul bit his bottom lip. ‘There’s DNA evidence. From three of the crime scenes at least. The skipper who died holding on to his bike, the young lad dead in the alley, and from Sam’s.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘It doesn’t have a match, ma’am. You don’t have to be a detective to know that this means George Elms is either taking the rap for someone else, or he was there but he wasn’t working alone.’

  ‘We found George’s DNA at your friend Sam’s scene, too, and he was holding the weapon that shot her when he was nicked. What do your detecting skills say about that? You cannot deny his involvement.’

  ‘Why wasn’t the fact that the DNA of another offender was found at all the scenes included in the investigation?’

  ‘Who says it wasn’t?’

  ‘Your report to the Crown Prosecution Service is on your PC. Relatively well hidden, granted, but I found it in your outbox. The report was an attachment — you should clear them out more often, they’re very good evidence — and it shows you didn’t mention it at all.’

  Helen sighed, she even smiled a little. ‘Not on the email copy, I don’t, no. We didn’t have all the DNA work back by then and I got told off about sending it on email at all. Seems I should have sent it by more secure means. The complete case file is a hard copy which was driven over directly by two uniform coppers. It was literally under guard.’

  ‘Who took it? And where’s your copy? You must have kept one.’

  Helen sniffed again.

  ‘Of course.’ She went over to the cabinet next to where Paul was standing. ‘Do you mind?’ she said.

  There were no files in the drawer. It was a junk drawer, full of stuff that the chief superintendent had thrown in there during her time in the office, stuff she didn’t need any more. Including her police issue steel baton.

  Paul didn’t see it coming. Even if he had, his left arm was limp and useless. But he wasn’t even looking in her direction when the steel bar smashed into the left side of his skull. He fell back against the wall and slid to the floor.

  Helen watched him make an untidy pile in the corner of her office. Her eyes were wide with the shock of what she had done. Blood trickled down the side of Paul’s bald head. His breathing was erratic and laboured, his eyelids twitched, and his legs spasmed. Helen dropped the baton. The sound seemed to snap her out of her trance. She needed to leave. Now.

  Helen started at her office windows. She turned the blinds in, making sure there were no gaps. Then she went over to a low cupboard with a table on top, positioned under her window. The door to the cupboard slid open. Behind it was a solid floor safe that was anchored to the steel skeleton of Langthorne House. She steadied her hands on the black metal dial and turned through the code. She reached inside. Paul uttered a moan and she checked over her shoulder. He was beginning to come round.

  Helen grabbed hold of a blue document folder, pulled the flap open and ran her fingers through the first few documents. She tipped it up and a pen drive slid into her hand. She had found what she was looking for. She slammed the safe door shut, spun the dial and closed the cupboard. She dropped to her knees and pulled out the plug that powered her computer. She considered taking it with her, but changed her mind. It was too late now.

  Helen opened her office door and stepped out. The corridor lights were ablaze. Someone else was there.

  ‘Ma’am?’ Jean was at her desk. She spun to greet her boss, the cup of tea in her hand still steaming.

  ‘Jean!’ Helen took a second to steady her voice. ‘I didn’t think anyone else was around.’

  ‘It’s a little quiet up here today. All the bosses have had a bit of kick about being out and about with the troops while this incident plays out down in Hythe. It feels a bit like déjà vu, you know? All the normal bobbies are grounded and milling around waiting for firearms to bring the bloke in.’

  ‘I guess so Jean, yeah. It’ll all be over soon.’

  ‘You okay, ma’am?’ Jean looked at her over the rim of her cup.

  ‘Yes, yes, Jean. I’m still a little under the weather is all.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Can I make you a coffee?’

  ‘No, no thanks, Jean. I’ve got to get out and about. Like you said, it’s all hands to the pump today and I need to be down in Hythe.’

  ‘Yes, I was made aware that you were heading down there. Mr Lance wanted to know when you were on your way. Did you want me to let him know?’

  Helen rubbed her face and looked back at her closed office door. Jean was acting very cool, considering that she had been involved in sharing Helen’s personal information. She must think that Paul had finished in there. Helen wanted to drag her over the coals for it, but she knew it would be a wrong move right now. She didn’t have much time.

  ‘Yes, please. Let him know I’m just leaving.’

  * * *

  Helen waited until she was twenty minutes away from Langthorne House and the BMW barely grumbling at seventy miles per hour. She brought her phone up
on the centre screen. It rang through the speakers.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mum, it’s me.’

  ‘Helen! Everything okay?’

  ‘Yeah, of course.’

  ‘You sound stressed, love. Are you sure you’re okay?’

  ‘I said three words, Mother.’ Her mum had always been astute.

  ‘Did you want to speak to the girls?’

  Helen hesitated. This was why she’d called, but now she found that she didn’t want to speak to them at all. ‘No, Mum, I’m going to drop in. I’ll speak to them then.’

  It was her mother’s turn to hesitate. ‘Oh, right, okay. Do you mean now?’

  ‘Is that okay?’

  ‘Yes, of course, they’re in from school and their homework should be done. I’ll tell them straight away, they’ll be thrilled!’

  Helen broke into a genuine smile for the first time in quite a while. ‘I hoped they would. I’m on the motorway, about ten minutes away. It will only be a flyer, Mum.’ She hesitated again. For a second she thought she might break, tell her mum that she needed her help, that she didn’t know where to turn or what to do. ‘A quick cup of tea, maybe.’

  ‘Of course. You can stay as long as you like.’ The phone call ended and Helen knew she could expect more questions when she got there. After all, when did she ever drop in on her little girls out of the blue?

  Helen sighed again. Her phone’s display was still up on the screen and she punched in the numbers from memory. The speakers rang again and she allowed the car to slow down. This shouldn’t be a long call, and she wanted to still be on the motorway when it ended. It was the best place for someone looking to discard a mobile phone where it would never be found.

  CHAPTER 37

  ‘Sir.’

  Barry Lance had been bent over a monitor set up in the rear of a large marked police van which had the words, “Incident Control Unit” branded along the side.

  In the back was a computer with a keyboard and printer, a second radio, a table, and an urn that plugged into the van’s power source, providing hot water. Bronze Command hadn’t yet found the time or the will to make a cup of tea, although his throat was dry with tension. He was watching his team on the screen. The area search up the canal bank had been completed as best and as far as they could manage, and the dogs and the helicopter had come back with no sign of the target. Both crews had said that, had their man been in there, they would have found him. Barry was equally confident that he hadn’t gone very far. Witnesses to the motorbike spill had described a hard fall. The rider was probably injured and he would be aware of the scale of the manhunt. He would have heard the helicopter and, if he had any sense, he would be looking for somewhere to lay up, under cover. He was in Hythe somewhere and Barry knew that finding him was just the start.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘We’ve had a call come in, sir. It’s anonymous, but it gives a specific address and says our man is in there.’

  ‘Right.’ Barry’s eyes remained fixed on the monitor in front of him, where the helicopter was supplying a feed. ‘Put it with the twelve other crackpots that have called in. And that’s before we’ve even got the press release out. Once everyone else knows about it, we’ll get all sorts of help’

  ‘This one seems a bit different, sir.’

  Barry dragged his eyes from the monitor stream showing his team emerging from a large detached house and moving towards the next. ‘How?’

  ‘I’ll read it as the call taker has typed it in, sir. It says a female has called in, claiming to be a senior officer named Helen Webb. She states that the suspect is at 14 Cliff Road, Hythe, where a male lives who is a former police officer. It goes on to say that this man is called Ed Kavski, known as “the Russian.” Apparently he is well established in the local drug scene.’

  ‘Ed Kavski?’ Barry snatched the paper from the officer. ‘Helen Webb?’

  ‘Yeah, it goes on to say that Helen Webb is the chief superintendent—’

  ‘I know who fucking Helen Webb is! Jesus.’ Barry scanned the printout. ‘It says here that she received a phone call from this Ed asking her to pick them both up and convey them away. ‘Has this been verified?’

  ‘Checks have been done on the phone number. It’s the area commander’s phone.’

  ‘Jesus. How the fuck has she got herself caught up in this?’

  The officer shrugged, waiting to be excused. Barry turned back to the monitor, made a decision, and picked up his radio. The messenger took his opportunity and stepped from the van.

  ‘Foxtrot One to all units. I need teams two to six back to me at the RVP immediately. Teams seven to eleven to continue with the cordon. Please confirm you have received this transmission.’

  Once he’d heard from everyone, Barry transmitted again.

  ‘I will be running an armed entry based on new intelligence. We need to move on this as soon as possible. Straight away please, teams.’

  His teams confirmed. He expected them to be able to muster in the supermarket car park in minutes. From there they would be raring to go.

  * * *

  Back in Langthorne House, Martin Young had been monitoring the same radio station and he certainly wasn’t aware of any new information regarding where the offender might be. This wasn’t a great surprise. With Barry Lance leading the operation from the ground, Martin’s role was to try and make sure the residents of Langthorne and the surrounding areas who had other issues were getting serviced. People were still having domestics, stealing from shops or houses and crashing their cars. The late turn inspector had come in and Martin was angling to try and get away, but everyone was expected to stay on duty until the Bronze Commander updated.

  Martin yawned as he held his private phone to his ear.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Denise, hey.’ Martin always hated calling his wife when he was working late, especially when he had no real idea when he might get away.

  ‘Oh, Martin. I thought it might be our Sally.’

  Martin sat up in his chair. ‘Sally? Why would it be Sally ringing?’

  ‘She was here, Martin. Sat on the step when I got home, said she needed somewhere to stay for a while.’

  ‘Well, of course she can! You didn’t turn her away, did you?’

  ‘Of course not! She’s my daughter too. I said it wasn’t a problem. She was making us both tea and I was in the shower when the phone went. Well, I thought it was you so she picked it up, turns out it was one of her friends. Then all of a sudden she had to go out — said she was picking some of her stuff up from this friend of hers.’

  ‘What friend?’

  ‘She didn’t say, Martin. You know what she’s like. But she was different today, you know. She seemed kind of . . . sad.’

  ‘Sad?’

  ‘Well, maybe not sad, just like she really did want to stay with us. She was nice to me for a start, and that’s not normal, is it? Anyway she went out, she wouldn’t let me drive her. That was what, an hour and a half ago. I don’t know why I’m so worried about her. I wouldn’t be normally, but she seemed so different today. You know how nothing ever bothers her — drives me mad, it does. Well, today I just thought that maybe something really was bothering her.’

  ‘Did she say where she was going? Did she say anything else?’ Martin felt panic rising. He didn’t know why himself, yet, but if it didn’t feel right to his wife, who was normally so unconcerned about their daughter, then he knew he should be worried too.

  ‘She didn’t say anything more than what I’ve told you, Martin. Then I went out to my car and Mrs Wakelin from over the road said she saw our Sally talking to someone in a small yellow car earlier today, half a mile from the house. She must have got dropped a bit up the road so we wouldn’t see the car, but you know what Mrs Wakelin is like, she’s everywhere that woman, and she drove past them on her way home. She said it looked like our Sally was upset with whoever she was talking to. I don’t know what that’s got to do with anything. Do you think she�
�s okay? Should I go out and look for her?’

  Martin had got to his feet. Two calls graded immediate were coming in at the same time. ‘No, Denise, you stay there in case she comes back. I’ll do the looking. I can escalate it far easier from here if I need to.’

  ‘You think she’s okay?’

  ‘Don’t worry, love. You know Sally. How many times has she had us worried out of our minds for no reason?’ Martin hoped he sounded more convincing than he felt. ‘Did Mrs Wakelin say anything more about this car?’

  ‘A young girl was driving, short dark hair. I guess that’s her friend.’

  ‘Yes, probably.’ Martin’s thoughts were already elsewhere.

  ‘Do you think she’s in trouble?’

  ‘No. I’ll let you know as soon as I have an update here. Hopefully I’ll be home soon.’

  CHAPTER 38

  As the truck rumbled to a stop in front of Peto Court, Sally Morgan faced Lee Chivers. He was gripping the steering wheel, as he had done all the way back. Sally wondered if he was contemplating his next move. She was certainly considering hers. They were back in his territory but they weren’t inside yet, and maybe she still had a chance. She had tried asking him questions but Lee hadn’t said a word. He’d seemed almost to be in a trance, staring, unblinking, at the early evening traffic. By now, Peto Court was a black outline with squares of dull orange marking out the windows lit from within.

  ‘Can Lizzy come out so we can talk? I know you don’t want me back in there, and that suits me to be honest. I told you I wasn’t coming back—’

  ‘You did come back though, Sally. Didn’t you?’

  ‘Did you hurt Lizzy?’

  Lee let go of the steering wheel. His right hand went to the knife. He held it up in front of him, as if he were admiring it. ‘You will do exactly what I tell you, Sal. So far all you’ve done is fuck me about. Now we’re going to go back into the flat, we’re going to meet with Lizzy, and we’re going to talk this whole fucking misunderstanding out. You understand?’