by Mike Holman
“Don’t know what they’re up to Sarge. Perhaps they’ve just been using the road like a race track and decided to get sensible.”
“Here you go they’re off again now,” said Tom as he glanced in his mirror.
The bike suddenly gained very quickly on them and started to overtake at speed. As it passed the front offside corner of their car the bike slowed and the pillion passenger turned round and pointed a revolver in Tom’s direction. He braked and swerved harshly as they heard a shot. Tom clipped the kerb then mounted the grass verge and brought the car to a halt. No damage, no impact. The motorcyclist continued ahead of them, the pillion firing the gun into the air.
“You okay Dave?”
“Yeah fine. Fucking bastards. Shit, what was that all about for fuck’s sake?”
“Road rage I reckon. I’m sure it was an imitation though and they were just blanks,” Tom said as he started to manoeuvre the car off the verge.
“Well it scared the shit out of me!” exclaimed Sweetface.
The bike had disappeared in the distance at speed and was now well out of view.
“Obviously didn’t like you shaking your fist at them when they nearly hit us the first time Tom.”
“I don’t suppose you got the number Sweetface? I was too busy trying to keep us in one piece!”
“No it looked like there might have been a back plate but it was really small and bent up.”
“Bastards” said Tom. “Fucking bastards” He repeated with rage as he got the car fully back on the road and made the best progress he could in the direction that the bike had disappeared. “How is it when you need a traffic unit there’s never one around,” he said punching the steering wheel in anger.
“Give control a shout on the radio Dave and see if there is a unit further up the 693 just near town and alert them to what’s just happened.”
Sweetface’s enquiries with control room were in vain.
“Nothing Sarge, sorry.”
“Bastards” Tom said again with even more anger this time.
“Why do they give us these shit diesel cars these days? We couldn’t catch a fucking cold in this - budgets, budgets, budgets. Everything these days is about saving money and giving us crap equipment. Sorry Dave, but times like this I get so livid with how the job’s changed.”
“Quite agree with you Sarge. I don’t reckon they want us to catch anyone these days ‘cos if we do it costs them so much more to deal with them and lock ‘em away. Must be even more frustrating for you though ‘cos of all those years you had on the RCS (Regional Crime Squad). All those nice fast motors, travel, manpower, surveillance equipment and big budgets. And now a cheap shitty diesel motor and bugger all back up. Bet you’re glad you came back to division,” said Sweetface sarcastically.
Both men continued the short remaining journey towards Brampton Police Station without conversation.
Dave Sweeting broke the silence, “You know I’m just thinking about Martin’s description earlier today.”
“Of what?” queried Tom.
“Of the bike and two guys he saw coming from near Wayne Evans’ house this morning. A lot of similarities from what he described to me. I wonder if it’s the same guys.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me at all. Most of Evans’ mates are complete arse-holes.”
Tom pulled into the police station yard.
“I’m going up to the office Dave. I want to catch Crime Intelligence before they go home and get all these circulations organised about Peterson. Can you take the car round to the workshop and ask them to check the tyres and tracking on the front wheels ‘cos I gave the kerb a hefty whack back there. Also, if you can find Martin have a chat with him about the bikers he saw this morning, see if there are any similarities and do an occurrence book entry about the incident with the bike please.”
“You’re day off tomorrow aren’t you Sarge?”
“Yeah, that’s if I don’t get called out for something else. If anything interesting turns up on Peterson tomorrow, give me a buzz on my mobile Dave. I’ll probably see you up in the office before I go.”
Tom left the car and made his way inside the police station. After liaising with the Local Intelligence Officer and Crime Intelligence Detective Constable he went to his office. He sat heavily in the chair at his desk, sighed deeply and put his head in his hands pondering the daily demise in human behaviour and human nature. Why did I ever join the police force, he thought quietly to himself.
Tom had set up all the necessary enquiries about Colin Peterson, briefed the Superintendent, tidied up a few loose ends and decided it was time for home via the pub next door to the station for a well deserved pint. But first, one last quick phone call.
“Mrs Peterson it’s Tom Lancaster.”
“Hi Tom. Please call me Maria. Not more questions, surely not?”
“No Maria, quite the contrary, I was just concerned that today’s questions had upset you and I wanted to make sure you’re okay. You looked really upset before we left.”
“That’s kind of you Tom. Yes, obviously I’m upset. Please just do what you can to find him Tom.”
Before hanging up Tom explained briefly what enquiries he had put into motion. He gave her his mobile number in case anything came to light through the businesses that might help and explained that he was off duty the next day. He promised to be back in touch in a couple of days time. Maria thanked him, wished him an enjoyable day off and enquired how he would be spending it. After a very pleasant conversation Tom finished the call. What a gorgeous woman, he thought to himself and so easy to talk to.
CHAPTER 7
If Tom could have been a fly on the wall at Colmar Grounds that night he would have seen a very different Maria Peterson. She sat in her husband’s office, her stilettoed feet resting on top of his desk. His photo, so carefully placed earlier was now face down on the desk. She spoke into the telephone only in Spanish but it was easy to detect her immense hostility purely by her tone of voice. Now she portrayed the character of a hard, ruthless and very intolerant woman. She slammed the receiver back down on the phone, gritted her teeth, sighed and took exasperated shallow breaths. She removed her stiletto-clad feet from the desk and paced the room, finally approaching the deeply carved Victorian mahogany cocktail cabinet. As she started to pour a large glass of whisky the telephone rang.
She returned to the desk and lifted the receiver.
“Maria Peterson speaking.”
“It’s me, Rashid, you wanted to speak to me.”
“Yes Rashid. I’m not in a good mood so listen well. There is quite a lot to be shifted tonight and I want it done tonight without fail, no excuses about weather conditions or any other problems. In my book there is only one acceptable resolution to a problem and that’s to eliminate it. So don’t you become a problem to me Rashid, do you understand?”
“There’s no need to threaten me Maria, I know what needs doing and I’ll sort it.”
“I’ll put it simply Rashid so even you can understand. If you don’t get your job done properly tonight you won’t be making any more phone calls to anyone, ever! And another thing, I don’t ever want a repeat of last night’s problems. I just hope for your sake you sorted it all out properly. You know my rules, nothing must ever be done to draw attention to our work.”
“Hey, listen Maria, you’re not the one who has to take all the risks. I have to make sure everything is right. It’s difficult getting the right people and then I have to oversee everything they do and watch every move they make. I had a problem last night. Some of these people I think I can trust turn out to be complete arseholes and then plans have to be changed at the last minute. I’ve dealt with that problem.”
“For your sake I hope you have Rashid.”
“Shall I come up to the house, I don’t like the phone.”
“The phones are fine. Checked regularly, done yesterday. So don’t question my competence Rashid. Also, I pay you very very well, more than enough to compensate you for
the risks you take. If you can’t handle the job just say so and you’ll be replaced.”
“Hey, I’m sorry, if I’m honest last night’s business bothered me a bit but it’s cool now.”
“I thought you said you have dealt with it.”
“I have, I’m sure the problem’s solved Maria and I’ll keep an eye on it.”
“If it comes to the surface again, drown it, if you get my meaning.”
“Okay I’ve got guys on it.”
“The boat will be there at 11.30 sharp. The conditions look good. Same skipper as normal. I don’t want it there any longer than it needs to be, so get it unloaded quickly and no fucking breakages or mistakes Rashid.”
“It’ll be fine Maria, I have to trust you, you have to trust me.”
“I don’t trust anything living or breathing, so beware. Also, I don’t want those morons you employ being seen coming to or from this house Rashid. I saw them arrive on a noisy motorcycle the other day. It draws attention and is not acceptable. It is not to happen again.”
“It’s cool, I will collect them in one of the vans shortly.”
“Two last things, firstly I have had Detectives here today making enquiries. They may be here again tomorrow or the next day so leave everything impeccably clean, including the office. They’re not fools. I get the impression that one of them is a very thorough man.”
“Oh shit, what have they been snooping about for, it’s not to do with last night is it?”
“No, nothing for you to worry about. A private matter. The second thing is that Carlos will be joining you tonight to keep an eye on things.”
“Oh Christ Maria, I don’t need him, he scares the shit out of me and I don’t frighten easy. He just stares, hardly ever speaks more than a few words and he’s more violent than anyone I’ve ever known. He gives me the creeps, he’s fucking mad!”
“No Rashid, he’s just fucking good. It’s when he says two little words in Spanish you’ve got to start worrying,” she said with a faint snigger.
“He will bring with him three steel crates which are to be put on board after you have finished unloading. They are heavy and care is needed. He will then be going with them on the boat. There won’t be a problem. The skipper and Carlos are good and close friends and know what’s to be done with them.”
“I can’t believe he’s got any.”
“Oh believe me he has friends, but no enemies, not living breathing ones anyway.”
“That I believe Maria.”
“I’m glad, then he will keep you on your toes Rashid, SO DON’T FUCK UP,” she shouted as she put down the receiver.
She returned to her whisky. After a few mouthfuls she went to the living room, dimmed the lights and put a CD on. Navaho Indian music. She settled on a sumptuous deep pile rug in the centre of the room in the Lotus position and went into a deep meditation. This was always her way of dealing with problems and stress. She had learnt from her father the benefits of meditation. He taught her from the age of 10 and they would meditate together when his business deals and personnel were causing him stress or anxiety.
She had an upbringing, which was a secret from her closest of companions and also from Colin. She had grown up in a palatial apartment in the city of Valencia. There were five apartments in the block all owned by a feared but respected Mafia family who had employed her father since he was 19 years old. Over the years he had earned their trust and respect resulting in his being employed to oversee several business interests within Valencia City. His henchmen and their families occupied the remaining four apartments. One of these minders, his closest, had been Carlos’s father. They were inseparable. Maria had grown up accustomed to the finer things in life, an abundance of money, constant protection, but few real trusted friends. She and Carlos had become like brother and sister, sworn to secrecy about the highly dubious affairs of their fathers.
From her father, her best friend, she had inherited business acumen, ruthlessness, and an appetite for wealth and control. During her teenage years she became well aware of her father’s dubious business interests and the violence that surrounded them. But she enjoyed the lifestyle and abundance of cash. She loved her father endlessly and knew better than to criticise him. A high standard of martial arts and fear of her father’s local organisation meant that her school friends, during her mid to late teens, knew not to get on the wrong side of her.
Maria knew little of her mother who had disappeared from her life when she was just four years old. Her father refused to talk about her other than to say that she had disgraced him and that they had been divorced. As she grew older, she came to understand her father’s ruthlessness and that of the organisation of which he was a key part. She saw, once or twice at first hand, the cheapness of human life demonstrated amongst his peers. In respect of her mother, she concluded the likelihood that she was dead, probably at the hands of her father’s employers or one of his henchmen. Her intense love and respect for her father prevented questions relating to her mother’s fate. She knew he had no wish to talk of the matter, his explanation would remain the same and would never take her any further forward.
Valencia was a fantastic city and offered her everything a teenager could want. Private schooling had prepared her well for life and business, fluency in English, German and an excellent knowledge of English and American culture. Maria was well aware of the dangers her father faced in everyday life. An array of violent rivals sought to topple him should the slightest opportunity arise. He controlled a large chunk of the city’s criminal income making him a very lucrative target. Contingency plans were well in place in case of his sudden demise and his daughter well briefed.
Nothing though had prepared her for the trauma that faced her three weeks before her twentieth birthday. Contingency plans are fine but provide little comfort for a broken heart and upturned life. Her father’s domain had gradually fallen to ruin at the hands of some very evil people. At 9.30am on a beautiful summer morning, he was shot 3 times whilst he relaxed in the morning sun outside a café not 200 metres from his apartment. Executed together with his two closest henchmen and a well trusted business associate in what was normally a quiet and sought after part of the city. Three hooded gunmen had appeared from the rear of a stolen delivery van. The whole incident was meticulously planned and over before her father or his minders could even draw weapons.
Luckily Maria was already at college that morning. She was collected within 45 minutes of the shooting by a woman she knew almost as a mother. Manuela was Carlos’s mother and the wife of one of her father’s henchmen who had also been fatally shot that morning. Carlos was with her, he was Maria’s closest friend. A year younger than her, he had grown up in the same apartment block. In fact, the one and only friend who could ever understand her extraordinary childhood upbringing. His upbringing and life coaching equalled Maria’s and in some ways exceeded it. He was a young man who would be expected to follow his father into a violent and dangerous occupation and had learnt how to dish out frightening violence rather too efficiently for his mother’s liking.
Manuela had got them both quickly to the waiting car which left the college with such haste that Maria already feared the worst. After a fleeting visit to a small office on the outskirts of the city, where Manuela collected three large A4 envelopes from a safe, they were taken to a private airstrip about two hours west of Valencia. The journey had been a traumatic and emotional nightmare for all three of them as, during the journey, Manuela had explained of the fatal shooting of their fathers. Having to so urgently come to terms with the violent murder of loved ones and the necessity to immediately abandon their homes, belongings, normal lives and friends in pursuit of their own safety was a difficult pill to swallow. Manuela made it crystal clear that it was far too dangerous to even contemplate any return to their apartments as the whole building and all business interests had fallen to an exceptionally ruthless rival family who would delight in their obliteration, thus reducing the likelihood of any futur
e vengeance.
By mid afternoon all three were entering British air space on a small privately chartered jet. Although they had been well prepared for such an event, none of them remotely believed it would ever happen to them. Maria had never cried as much as she had that day. Her emotions were truly in turmoil. She felt cold, weak, numb and so very empty. Frightened and yet so vengeful and angry. Lost as to how she could ever become powerful enough to avenge professional assassins such as those who had executed her father. Carlos was similarly distraught and spoke only to repeat many times during the flight that he would one-day kill those responsible. The level of his apparent ire, although understandable, concerned Manuela greatly.
Neither had ever been to England although both had attained fluency in English at school.
“Why England?” Maria remembered asking towards the end of the flight.
“It’s where your father chose to invest money and create a life and identity for you should this happen and we did the same for Carlos. Your father has a close friend here who is a prominent Barrister and who will help us all settle into a new life. We will not be poor and should not be frightened,” she remembered Manuela telling them.
Each envelope that Manuela had collected related to each individual. Upon opening hers Maria had found that it contained many papers. A British Passport in the name Maria Jackson, copies of deeds and other papers relating to her ownership of a flat in Chiswick and details of a very healthy bank account in her newly assumed name. Also a letter from one of her father’s closest friends giving details of the friendly London Barrister who held keys for the flat and other papers and cash that she may need. The most distressing item had been a letter to her from her father. Having read this her tears had been uncontrollable. Manuela had done her best to console and re-assure her. The letter had made it obvious that her father’s position had become very dangerous in the preceding six months to such an extent that he had anticipated an imminent attempt on his life and that of those in his employment. Hence his preparatory moves and plans for the protection of his daughter should the worst happen. Her father’s instructions were strict and she knew needed to be complied with in utmost detail, for she had grown up accustomed to living in this dangerous underground criminal world and had been well prepared to expect the possibility of such an event. She was never to return to Valencia City, never to make any enquiries in relation to her father’s death and never use the family name again. She was to create a life for herself in England free from threats and violence. The most difficult to obey were his strict instructions that she should not under any circumstances attempt to attend his funeral in Valencia. This for Maria was the hardest of all but her father had taught her well and she knew that his reasons for any such instructions would be paramount for her safety. At this time she could only dream of one day becoming powerful enough in her own right to avenge his death but felt it unlikely that she would achieve this in her lifetime. She had always wanted her father to be proud of her.