by Conrad Jones
Tank shook his arm free and turned away without speaking. There was no time to lose arguing the toss with the inspector. He needed to get to Alfie Lesner.
Chapter Twenty
Hajj
Hajj watched Rahid and his men hosing down the stable yard with caustic soda. Brian’s body had been stuffed into a large oil drum and set alight with five gallons of unleaded, and a drum of diesel engine oil. It would burn for hours leaving nothing but grey ashes and a black sludge. That would be disposed of in a river that ran through the farmland. It’s a simple but effective way to dispose of enemies, and they’d tried and tested it many times before. The smell sickened Hajj; it was sweet like pork burning.
“Rahid,” Hajj shouted.
The wiry little man shouted a series of instructions to his men and then jogged over to Hajj.
“Yes, Boss.”
“Alfie has been arrested.”
“How do you know?”
“Our contact in the custody suite has just telephoned me.”
“What about Howarth?”
“He’s not sure, but he thinks that he may have been taken to hospital,” Hajj lit a cigarette and breathed the smoke in deeply.
“Do you think they’ll talk?”
“Do you?”
“They could ruin everything if they do,” Rahid did not want to go back to Morocco, but he didn’t want to go to prison either.
Hajj watched the flames flickering from the oil drum, and burning embers climbed high into the night sky.
“It would be easy enough to get Howarth out of a hospital, but how would we get Alfie out of a police station?” Hajj pondered.
“It would take an army of men to do that, Hajj.”
“You’re right, that wouldn’t be an option, but we need to stop him from talking.”
“He would be easy to hit in prison.”
“That would be too late, Rahid.”
“What else can we do?”
“If they had to move him then we could spring him from a prison van, right?” Hajj mused as he watched the flames jumping. Flesh crackled and bones splintered in the intense heat.
“Easy, but why would they move him?” Rahid followed his employer’s gaze and smiled. They both laughed and nodded in agreement. “I see, they’re going to have a fire, right?”
“Right, Rahid my friend, they’re going to have a fire,” Hajj laughed again. “We need to move quickly.”
Chapter Twenty One
Alfie Lesner
Alfie Lesner sat in a prison cell eight foot long by six foot wide. He sat on a thin mattress that was covered in red vinyl to prolong its life. The cell stank of urine and it was cold. The walls were covered in dark green tiles, probably put there by the Victorian tradesmen that had built Warrington police station in the eighteen hundreds. In the corner was a stainless steel lavatory without a seat or toilet paper. The smell from it permeated the tiny holding cell. Alfie had been charged with grievous bodily harm, possession of a firearm and kidnap upon his arrival in the custody suite. The custody officers stripped his belt and shoelaces from him, so that he couldn’t hang himself, and they bagged and tagged his belongings. That was only an hour ago, although it felt like weeks since he’d been processed. He still couldn’t fathom out who had called the police. Hajj, maybe, but he could see no reason, and he wouldn’t know where Jack’s caravan was exactly. Brian was dead, so that ruled him out of the equation. Jack must have called them, but why would he turn himself in? The longer he thought about it the more frightened he became that Jack was going to wriggle out of this by blaming him. His head was reeling with the night’s events, and he couldn’t see any way of walking away from this untarnished. The custody officers had been rough and aggressive to him. They believed that he was involved in child abduction, and treated him accordingly. Alfie had a feeling that prison would be worse still.
Alfie wasn’t an angel by any stretch of the imagination, but he was no paedophile. He’d been a promising footballer at school but a bad knee injury ruled sport out as a profession. Academically he wasn’t dim, but he was no rocket scientist either. He was close to his elderly parents, one younger brother and his two older sisters, and he loved their children dearly. The family had an inkling that he was involved with some unsavoury characters. He had no full time job, and yet he drove a Mercedes, dressed in designer suits and always had wads of cash on him. He kept his business close to his chest, and no one pried too deep because he was a lovable rogue. If his family thought for one minute that he’d been involved in child trafficking then he would lose everything that was dear to him, and he couldn’t see any way out.
The viewing hatch clanged open and he heard keys being inserted into the lock. The heavy metal door swung open. It was odd but he always marvelled at how thick prison doors were. King Kong could not break through one of them.
“Get up,” a burly police officer grunted. He had a keychain dangling to his knees. “Your solicitor is here, I hope he’s a good one.”
Alfie stepped out of the cell into a wide corridor with a high vaulted ceiling. The walls were covered with the same green tiles as his cell, and there were at least a dozen cell doors on either side of the corridor. The smell of urine didn’t fade at all. It still cloyed in his throat.
“Move it,” the officer pushed him hard in the back, and Alfie walked down the corridor. There were two men dressed in plain clothes leaning against the wall.
“In here,” one of them instructed him. He was wearing a dogtooth patterned sports jacket and black trousers that had become shiny with age. Alfie reckoned he was dressed head to toe in Matalan budget clothing. The second detective shopped at the same store, and he was sporting a bottle green ill-fitting suit, and brown shoes.
Alfie stepped into the interview room and immediately felt claustrophobic. There was barely room to swing a cat in there. A duty solicitor was already sat at the table, and Alfie realised immediately that he was a state appointed brief, and therefore useless. The table and the four chairs around it were fastened to the floor with metal brackets to prevent a prisoner using them as a makeshift weapon. Alfie’s solicitor remained seated and he shifted a pile of loose papers that were on the table in front of him.
“I need a moment alone with my client,” he said to the detectives. The officer in the dogtooth jacket rolled his eyes to the ceiling and tutted.
“Five minutes,” the detective replied looking at his watch.
“I’ll need longer than that, Detective,” the brief replied.
The detective marched up to the table and placed both hands on it, leaning aggressively toward the solicitor. He looked at Alfie as if he were something that he’d stood in.
“This man is involved in the kidnap of five year old twins. Every minute you’re fucking about means they’re a minute further away, five minutes is all you’ve got,” he snarled.
The solicitor was a young man, not long out of university. He was learning his trade by taking defence jobs for pro-bono clients on legal aid. He couldn’t look the detective in the eye, and he certainly didn’t have the stomach to defend this Child Taker.
“Of course you’re assuming that my client is in fact guilty,” the brief tried to be assertive.
“You got five minutes,” the detective turned and headed toward the door.
“I am guilty, and I’ll help you to find them if I can,” Alfie called after the detective.
“I must advise you to say nothing until we have spoken in private,” the solicitor stood up.
“Shut up, Williams,” the detective span in the doorway. He pointed to Alfie and said, “You’d better not be messing me around sunshine.”
“I’m not,” Alfie shook his head.
“Get the tape on,” he ordered his colleague. “Sit down.” He told Alfie as the other detective opened fresh cassettes and inserted them into a tape recorder that looked like it had sailed on the ark.
“I must repeat that this is against my advice, Mr Lesner, and that I would like
it noted that my client has volunteered to assist you with your enquiries,” the brief sat down again and ruffled his papers nervously.
“This interview is being conducted, on July the second, two thousand and nine, at three o’clock in the morning, by Detective’s Crab, and Wilson. Also present is duty solicitor,” he waited for the brief to introduce himself.
“Alan Williams,” he said.
“The suspect is Alfie Lesner, and he is being interviewed under caution. What can you tell me about the whereabouts of the Kelly twins?” detective Crab interlinked his fingers and looked Alfie in the eyes.
“I didn’t kidnap them, let’s get that straight,” Alfie began nervously. He didn’t know what to say for best but he had to get his side over to them before Jack started shifting the blame.
“Who did?” Crab asked bluntly.
“Jack Howarth. He kidnapped them. I was the delivery man, a go between, but I thought they were going for adoption,” Alfie sounded lame.
“Adoption?” Wilson gasped. He spat the word out.
“Yes, it sounds silly now I think of it, bloody stupid, but I believed him,” Alfie put his head in his hands.
“For the tape please, Alfie. You were told that the twins were going to be adopted?” Crab was astounded.
“Yes, honestly.”
“By who?” Wilson asked sarcastically.
“I don’t know, rich Moroccan families that couldn’t have children of their own,” Alfie answered quietly.
The detectives exchanged glances and pressed on with the questioning. They weren’t sure whether Alfie was genuinely duped by Jack Howarth, or a totally complicit player in the crime.
“Where are they now?”
“I don’t know for certain,” Alfie looked from one detective to the other, and he could see anger in their eyes. “The last time I saw them they were being put into a horsebox.”
“A horsebox?”
“Yes, a big navy blue, wooden horsebox,” Alfie expanded.
“What was the registration?”
“I don’t know?”
“Who was driving it?”
“A Moroccan, I don’t know his name,” Alfie tried his best to answer, but he couldn’t help sounding vague.
“Was the number plate British, or Moroccan?”
“British, I think.”
“You think?”
“It was British, I’m sure. I think I would have noticed if it was foreign.”
“How many wheels did this horsebox have?”
“What?”
“Was it a double wheelbase at the rear?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Was it being towed?”
“No, it was the type with a driver’s cab, like a converted truck.”
“What make?”
“I’m not sure, but the cab looked like the front end of a DAF truck.”
“Were there horses in it?”
“Yes, they loaded the kids and then put a couple of horses into the back.”
Crab turned to his colleague and nodded his head toward the door. His partner understood that he was to put out an immediate all ports bulletin to every police force in the country to look for a large blue horsebox. He stood up and left the room. It wouldn’t be the first time livestock had been used to hide drugs or humans from border guards and customs officers.
“Detective Wilson has left the interview for a moment,” Crab said for the sake of the tape.
“Were the twins alive and well?”
“Yes, they were sleeping.”
“Were they sleeping, or drugged?”
“I’m not sure, they could have been drugged I suppose,” Alfie didn’t know because at the time he didn’t care. He hadn’t looked at the children that he’d transported as if they were somebody’s sons or daughters. Not the way he did with his beloved nephews and nieces. Somehow, Alfie had been able to differentiate between the two, business, and family. Maybe it was akin to what the Nazis had done to the Jews, blanked all recognition of them as fellow humans, so that they could be complicit in their extermination without feeling any guilt. Now in the cold light of day it felt completely different. He felt very guilty indeed.
“How did you transport them to this, Hajj character?”
Alfie swallowed hard before he answered. He realised how it would sound. ‘What on earth would his family think of him if this came out in court? ‘ ‘Uncle Alfie the Child Taker’.
“In the boot of my car,” Alfie said ashamed.
“You put five year old children into the boot of your car?” the detective repeated for effect.
“Yes.”
“Could you answer a little louder for the tape please,” Crab wanted this recorded with complete clarity.
“Yes, I put them in the boot of my car,” Alfie felt sick.
“Where did you take them to?”
Alfie realised that he was digging a big hole for himself. The more he said the worse things sounded. He leaned over to Alan Williams and whispered to his brief. The brief took a deep breath and then spoke next.
“My client has been very helpful so far, Detective Crab, and now we’d like to know what’s on the table if he helps you further.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No, Detective, he’s got some valuable information that he’d like to exchange for some leniency,” the solicitor cleared his throat. He was uncomfortable with the situation, to say the least.
Crab sat back in his chair and linked his hands behind his considerably sized head. It looked almost too big for his body and was made to look larger by thick greying hair cut into a flat top.
“Your client, admits assault, carrying a firearm, and kidnap. He carried five year old children in the boot of his car, and sold them to a Moroccan paedophile ring, and you’d like us to consider making a deal?”
“Yes,” Alan Williams undid the top button of his shirt and loosened his tie. He suddenly felt like he was choking.
“How does life without parole sound?”
“Obviously that’s not for you to decide, Detective, but we’d appreciate your report being favourable to my client.”
Alfie whispered again. The colour drained out of his solicitor’s face as he spoke to him.
“I believe that my client can shed some light on a recent murder.”
“How recent?”
“I believe it was today.”
Crab stood up and removed the dogtooth sports coat. He undid the buttons on his shirts sleeves and rolled them up while he contemplated the issue. There were large sweat patches spreading beneath his arms.
“Let’s just say that I believe a single word that your scumbag client has said, and I don’t by the way. Why would we consider any deals?”
Alfie whispered to his brief again. The brief shook his head and was obviously disagreeing with his client.
“If you recover the twins alive, and my client divulges as much information as he possesses about the incident, will you recommend leniency?”
“I’ll mention that he cooperated fully with the investigation, and that’s as far as I’m going,” Crab sat down and looked hard at Alfie Lesner. “Where did you take the twins, in the boot of your car?”
Alfie looked to his brief for guidance, and then paused before speaking. He was thinking of how to explain everything without digging himself any deeper. It was already obvious that his liberty would be taken from him, it was just a matter of how long now.
“The farm is called, Rookery Farm, it’s near Delamere Forest.”
“What Road is it on?”
“It’s just off the A forty nine, in the forest,” Alfie explained.
“How many men were there?”
“Half a dozen or so, maybe more, but he has hundreds of men working for him, all over the country, they’re a nasty bunch.”
“Nasty? Similar to people that transport five year old children in the boot of their car?” Detective Crab snarled sarcastically.
Alfie sat back in his chair
and sighed. The situation was dire, and the more information he gave, the worse he sounded.
“Weapons?” the Detective carried on building a picture of the criminals that he’d be dealing with.
“Yes, he has everything from mortars to machineguns. Hajj deals them,” Alfie shrugged.
“Deals weapons?”
“Yes, his men sell to most of the drug gangs in the city,” Alfie explained.