by OMJ Ryan
Jennings repeated it back to her.
‘Now, lock the door behind me.’
Jennings nodded. Then suddenly his eyes bulged as he stared at something over Phillips’s shoulder. She swivelled back to face the bedroom and an icy chill ran the length of her body as her eyes landed on the silhouette of a man standing before an open door ahead of her. In that instant, the man’s right hand shot upwards. A blinding flash, followed by the terrifying sound of a silenced gun, filled the air.
Phillips felt the bullet whip passed her head before it tore through Jennings’s shoulder. Acting on instinct, she threw herself backwards, pushing him back into the bathroom, where they both fell onto the hard tiled floor. Another muzzled shot rang out, shattering the mirror above their heads. She could hear Shing moving closer as he continued to fire. Scrambling across the floor, she swung her leg and kicked the door shut. The bullets continued to come. Careful to stay as close to the ground as possible, she reached up and turned the lock in the door just as Shing thrust his boot hard into it.
Phillips crawled to where Jennings lay moaning, dark blood pooling under his back from the hole in his shoulder. ‘You’re gonna be ok, Eric. Stay with me. I’ll get you out of this,’ she said, as she grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his shoulder.
Shing continued to kick the door but the lock held true.
Phillips prayed it would hold.
Just then, she heard a different sound. Turning towards the door, she watched in horror as the narrow wood panel above the handle splintered and a large metal blade appeared, then immediately disappeared. A second later, there was another thud as the wood began to disintegrate in the frame. The blade came through farther this time. Phillips froze as she recognised it as the kind of metal butcher’s cleaver used to execute Wong in Hong Kong.
Trapped, she frantically scanned the tiny bathroom for a weapon. Something, anything, that she could use to fend Shing off. She found nothing but the torch.
The blade continued to slice through the wooden panel, and soon a maniacal-looking Shing appeared on the other side, hacking the door with the razor-sharp meat cleaver.
Phillips jumped to her feet and prepared to face him, holding the heavy torch in both hands like a baseball bat.
Shing reached through the broken panel, then unlocked the door. He turned the handle and opened it slowly, a demonic grin spreading across his face as he stared at his quarry. He finally spoke. ‘Si wú duì zhèng!’ His eyes bulged as he moved the cleaver to his left hand and pulled the pistol from his shoulder holster. ‘Si wú duì zhèng!’ he repeated as he stepped inside.
Phillips took a swing at him with the torch, but he dodged it with ease and whipped the pistol across her face, catching the muzzle agonisingly on the bridge of her nose. The blow forced her backwards and she fell painfully to the floor, next to Jennings.
Disorientated, and bleeding heavily from both nostrils, she tried her best to shield Jennings. ‘Armed police will be in here any moment,’ she lied through bubbles of blood.
Shing stepped over Phillips now and placed the muzzle of the gun against the top of her head. ‘Si wú duì zhèng!’ he said again, before adding ‘Goodbye,’ in broken English.
Phillips closed her eyes and waited for death.
‘Fuck you, you piece of shit!’ Bovalino roared as he charged in behind Shing. The big Italian shoved him forwards into the broken mirror above the handbasin with immense force, which caused the cleaver to fall from his hand.
Phillips attempted to get out of the way.
Above her, a rampant Bovalino grabbed Shing by the back of the head, then rammed his forehead down onto the sink with a sickening thud.
‘You-fucking-bastard!’ he raged, using the words to punctuate each time Shing’s head connected with the sink. ‘I’ll fucking kill you!’ he yelled, then grabbed the cleaver from the floor and raised it high into the air.
‘Bov! Stop!’ shouted Phillips, as she jumped up between him and Shing, who had slumped unconscious to the floor.
Bovalino’s eyes danced in his head as he struggled for breath.
‘It’s ok, Bov. It’s over,’ said Phillips softly.
Bovalino’s eyes remained like saucers, but his breathing slowly began to stabilise.
‘It’s over, Bov. Stand down. Stand down, mate.’
The big Italian appeared suddenly aware of his surroundings. He lowered the cleaver and stumbled backwards before dropping heavily onto the edge of the bath.
Phillips took a knee and checked Shing’s pulse. It was weak and, judging by the state of his face and head, he clearly needed urgent medical attention. Taking no chances, she rolled him into the recovery position, then handcuffed him to the metal frame of the hand basin. ‘Where’s Jonesy?’ she asked.
‘Shit! Jonesy,’ said Bov, as he dropped the cleaver in the bath, then jumped up and ran out of the room.
Phillips followed close behind. Her heart almost stopped when she spotted Jones lying face down by the back door, soaked in blood.
Bov took a knee and rolled him onto his back. ‘Jonesy! Talk to me.’
Jones’s skin was almost grey from the massive blood loss. Phillips knelt down and checked his pulse. It was there, but very weak. His left arm had been heavily lacerated by the cleaver in what looked like defensive wounds.
Just then, Entwistle appeared at the back door, looking dazed and confused.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ shouted Phillips angrily.
‘Sorry, Guv. I’ve just come round in the trees,’ he said. Then he spotted Jones’s prostate body. ‘Jesus. What happened?’
‘Shing cut him up with a meat cleaver,’ said Bovalino.
‘I’ll go and get help,’ said Entwistle.
‘The signal’s shit, so you’ll need to use the radio in the car. Tell Cumbria Control we need urgent medical support immediately.’
‘Got it,’ said Entwistle.
‘And make sure they send the Air Ambulance!’ Phillips shouted after him. ‘Because if they don’t, Jonesy will bleed out.’
47
Manchester Royal Infirmary, Surgical Ward
Three days later.
Phillips knocked on the door of Jones’s private room and leaned through the doorway so she could see him.
‘Guv,’ he said with a broad smile. He sat up in bed as his wife, Sarah, turned to face the door.
‘I’m not disturbing you, am I?’
‘Of course you’re not,’ said Jones.
Sarah got up from the chair. ‘Actually, I think I’d better be going. I need to get the kids their tea.’
‘Please don’t leave on my account,’ said Phillips.
Sarah bent down to kiss to Jones on the forehead, then turned back to face Phillips. She appeared slightly embarrassed. ‘Nice to see you again, Jane,’ she said, then headed for the door.
Phillips watched her leave, then turned back to face Jones. ‘Was it something I said?’
Jones looked coy. ‘More like something I said.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I told her you knew about the separation and I think she feels embarrassed about it, considering what happened to me.’
Phillips dropped into the seat next to the bed. ‘You mean being attacked with a cleaver and almost bleeding to death?’
Jones nodded solemnly, before a wide grin spread across his face. ‘I tell you what, though. He hasn’t half done me a favour.’
Phillips frowned, causing a surge of pain from her broken nose. She grimaced slightly. ‘How does Shing slicing up your arm do you a favour?’
‘Got me my wife back,’ said Jones with certainty.
Phillips blew her lips and then chuckled. ‘So it’s all good again then, is it?’
Jones nodded. ‘Totally. When she found out I’d been seriously injured, she suddenly realised what life would really be like without me, and she says she couldn’t stand the thought of it. She’s now talking about renewing our vows next summer in the Maldives.’
‘Bloody hell. Shing did do you a favour, then.’
‘I know, right,’ said Jones, his grin even wider now.
‘I don’t mind telling you though, Jonesy, I thought we’d lost you at one point.’
Jones produced a slow smile. ‘The surgeon reckons that, without the Air Ambulance, I’d have bled out.’
Phillips nodded silently.
‘So, how’s your nose?’ asked Jones, appearing keen to change the subject.
Phillips instinctively touched her nose at the point of impact. ‘Broken and sore, but I’ll live. It’s a good thing my job doesn’t rely on my looks,’ she said with a smile.
‘And what about Shing? What’s happened to him?’
‘He’s still in intensive care with a swelling on the brain,’ said Phillips. ‘Bovalino knocked the shit out of him.’
Jones laughed nervously. ‘Even a Triad assassin is no match for the Italian Stallion.’
Phillips laughed too for a moment, then caught herself. ‘Seriously, though, I’ve never seen Bov like that. If I hadn’t been there to stop him, he’d have killed Shing.’
Jones nodded sagely.
‘I need to ask you something,’ said Phillips, ‘about Bov.’
‘Go on.’
‘Last week, outside Shaw’s apartment, when I was giving you a hard time for smoking—’
‘And feeling sorry for myself,’ said Jones with a wry smile.
‘That too, yeah. Well, during that exchange you told me that Bov wasn’t firing on all cylinders. What did you mean by that?’
Jones took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. ‘Look, I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘Maybe not, but you did. So, what did you mean?’
‘You should ask him, Guv. I wouldn’t feel right talking about him behind his back.’
‘Look, Jonesy. I watched Bov – our very own gentle giant – almost beat a man to death on a sink. Because of that, he’s facing an investigation for use of excessive force, and if he’s found guilty he’ll be gone. So if there were mitigating circumstances that led to it, as his boss, I need to know,’ said Phillips.
‘They can’t throw him out for protecting us!’
‘They can and they will if they feel Bov overstepped the mark. Don’t forget, Fox is in the running for Chief Constable. If she thinks making an example of one of her own will help her get the job, she’ll have him out in a flash. So, for Bov’s sake, tell me what you meant that day.’
Jones rubbed his mouth and nodded. ‘Ok. I’ll tell you, but only because it might help him.’
‘Go on.’
‘It was something he said on the train down to London when we went after Wong. He mentioned that he was struggling a bit.’
‘Struggling? With what, exactly?’
‘He’d lost his bottle. After the Hawkins case. Said he was frightened of getting hurt again. He’d cheated death once and he was wondering if he could carry on. Izzie was constantly worried about him and that was playing on his mind too.’
‘Jesus,’ said Phillips. ‘I had no idea.’
‘None of us did. I mean, who’d have thought a big guy like Bov would get scared?’
‘No wonder he froze at Jennings’s house.’
Jones nodded. ‘That’s why I went out the back first. I knew he couldn’t face it, and I didn’t want you to find out.’
Phillips processed the information for a moment.
‘Come on, Guv, they won’t kick him out, will they? If he hadn’t taken Shing out, we’d all be dead.’
‘I hope not. I really do,’ said Phillips, ‘but you can never underestimate Fox’s ambition either.’
‘Is there anything we can do to help him? You know, speak on his behalf?’
‘I’ll be doing that,’ said Phillips. ‘Don’t you worry. I promise you, if I have anything to do with it, he’s not going anywhere.’
The room fell silent for a time before Jones spoke again. ‘So, what’s the score with Jennings, then?’
‘He’s in here with you. Will be for about a month, they reckon. The bullet shattered his shoulder and made a right mess inside, so he’s gonna need a couple more surgeries before they’ll let him out.’
‘And what then?’
‘Then?’ said Phillips. ‘Then, I’m gonna throw the book at the slimy bastard. I want him on conspiracy to murder, fraud, embezzlement, bribery, the lot. Entwistle’s going through the Planning Department’s accounts as we speak. If Cindy Shaw was right, then I’ve no doubt we’ll unravel his false accounting. By the time I’m finished with him, he’ll wish Shing had bloody killed him.’
Jones cackled. ‘Poor bugger won’t know what’s hit him.’
Phillips chuckled and said nothing for a moment before stepping up out of the seat. ‘Right, well, I don’t know about you, but I’m knackered. Time for me to go home and get some sleep.’
Jones nodded. ‘I can’t be sure if it’s the meds they’ve put me on, or the jet lag has finally buggered off, but I slept like a baby last night.’
Phillips recoiled playfully. ‘What? You mean you shit your pants and cried all night?’
‘Ha-bloody-ha,’
‘I’m only kidding,’ said Phillips. ‘Mine’s gone too, and all I want to do right now is slip into a hot bath, have a glass of wine and go to bed. I’ll leave you to it.’
‘Thanks for coming by, Guv. It means a lot.’
‘Take care, and I’ll speak to you tomorrow,’ said Phillips and headed for the door before stopping in her tracks and turning back to Jones. ‘You won’t have heard him saying it, because you were out for the count that night, but as Shing was about to kill us, he kept repeating a phrase, over and over. It was bloody eerie, and I remembered hearing it just before Wong was killed.’
‘Oh, what was that?’
‘Si wú duì zhèng!’ said Phillips, trying her best to pronounce the Cantonese.
‘What does it mean?’
‘I had no idea, so I got googled it.’
‘And?’
‘“The dead cannot testify; dead men tell no tales,”’ said Phillips.
‘Jesus. We really are lucky to be alive, Guv.’
Phillips nodded. ‘Yes, we are.’ She left the room.
48
Ashton House, Major Crimes Unit, Incident Room
One month later.
Phillips drained the remaining coffee from her mug and took a moment to sit back in her leather chair as she mentally prepared for the interview she was about to conduct with Eric Jennings. After three weeks in hospital and several surgeries, he had finally been allowed to go home. Phillips and Entwistle had wasted no time in getting around to his house, and promptly arrested him on suspicion of conspiracy to murder and fraud. The CPS was confident of convictions on the fraud charge, but far less so on conspiracy to murder. However, Phillips had been keen to include it in the hope that the added pressure might scare Jennings into incriminating himself in the interview. It was a long shot and she knew it, but it was worth a go. And that was the one charge she really wanted to get him on.
The Digital Forensics team had quickly recovered the fraudulent documents he had co-signed with Cindy Shaw, plus a host of evidence that he had been doctoring official documents in an attempt to force through the rezoning of St John’s Gardens. It was hardly the crime of the century, and, if convicted – at best – Phillips knew he would serve a minimal amount of time in a Category C prison for small time offenders.
In her gut, she truly believed Jennings had been involved in Carpenter’s murder and, in doing so, had robbed her and her unborn baby of their future – not to mention the heartbreak her death had caused for both Aaron Carpenter and Don Townsend. Phillips was determined he should receive justice in line with the crime, but she knew only too well that justice and the rule of law were not always great bedfellows. Unless she could secure a confession, she had little evidence to convince the CPS the conspiracy to murder charge would stick.
She checked her watch
– 10.50 a.m. – then closed her leather portfolio case on the desk and made ready to leave. At that moment, there was a knock at her door.
‘You got a second, Guv?’ asked Entwistle, his laptop balanced on his left arm.
‘Can it wait? I’m due downstairs with Jennings in ten minutes.’
‘It’s about Jennings. I’ve found something I think you’ll want to see before you go in.’
Phillips eyes widened. ‘In that case, I have all the time in the world.’
Entwistle walked to the side of her desk and placed the laptop down. ‘So, I took the bus last night for the first time in years because my car was in for a service.’
‘Right.’
‘Yeah, I sat downstairs near the front.’
‘Ok,’ said Phillips, wondering where this was going.
‘And totally by chance, I noticed that the bus company uses cameras to monitor their drivers.’ Entwistle showed her his phone. ‘See – I took a photo of it.’
Phillips glanced at the image. ‘Is there a point to this, Entwistle?’
‘Stay with me. You’ll be glad you did.’
Phillips was still not convinced.
Entwistle continued, ‘Anyway, it suddenly dawned on me that when we trawled the bus company CCTV outside Carpenter’s house on the night she died, we only ever saw footage from the passenger-focused cameras – not the driver cams. So this morning I contacted the bus company and asked for all the footage from the driver cams for every bus that passed the murder scene. Specifically, from two hours either side of the time of death.’
Phillips’s pulse quickened with anticipation.
‘And look what I found at 7.30 p.m.,’ said Entwistle opening a large image on the screen.
Phillips took a moment to focus, and then her eyes widened. ‘Jesus Christ. We can’t be that lucky?’