by Paul Watson
‘Did you meet with a man called Jake Mcguire on Floral Street, Covent Garden around that time.’
‘No comment.’
‘How do you account for the CCTV evidence of your meeting with Jake Mcguire, before Mcguire attempted a robbery outside a pub?’
‘No comment.’
‘I must remind you that my client will answer no comment to all questions,’ said the solicitor.
‘Thank you,’ said Amy. ‘In that case, I’ll remind your client, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Did you give Jake Mcguire a piece of paper or a piece of card outside the pub?’
‘No comment.’
‘Did you know Steven George?’
Taylor paused and looked at Amy for the first time.
‘No comment.’
‘Did you pay Jake Mcguire to steal a bag from Steven George?’
‘No comment.’
‘How do account for 10,000 pounds in cash stored in your office at the Theatre?’
Another pause.
‘No comment.’
The solicitor interrupted, ‘I thought you were questioning my client about a robbery, I don’t see what the relevance of your question is, and I’ll advise my client not to answer.’
Amy said, ‘The relevance of the money is that your client had large sums of cash in his office, which could pay people to commit offences.’ Amy looked at Taylor. ‘Why did you have such a large amount of cash in your office? Why did you not give a name when we arrested you?’
‘No comment.’
‘Did you pay a gang to kidnap Steve George?’
The solicitor interrupted again. ‘You said you wished to question my client about encouraging a robbery, you mentioned nothing about a kidnapping. We need to stop this interview right now.’
‘In a minute,’ Amy said. ‘Josiah Taylor, I’m arresting you for the aggravated kidnapping of Steven George. My grounds are, you had the means to pay a gang to do this, CCTV recorded you briefing an offender to steal from Steven George. After the unsuccessful robbery, kidnappers took George from the same location.’ Amy re-read the caution.
‘Don’t answer,’ said the solicitor.
‘No comment,’ said Taylor.
‘I understand that you’d like to speak to your client. We’ll be outside.’ Amy paused the tape and left the interview room with Rob.
‘You’d better chalk another offence up on the board Sarge,’ Rob said to Thomas. ‘Amy’s further arrested him for kidnapping.’
‘Is it time we got CID down here Rob?’
‘Amy’s doing fine Sarge, better than Mike’s boy; I’d let her keep going with this. If this man doesn’t talk soon, you’ll be charging him with kidnapping and he’ll be here for an overnight stay.’
The solicitor came out of the room. ‘I must insist that you disclose everything.’
Amy looked at Thomas.
‘Rob, bring him out,’ said Thomas.
Rob obliged and brought Taylor to the desk. ‘I’m allowing your detention to gather evidence by questioning, regarding Steven George’s kidnapping.’ Thomas said. Rob took Taylor back into the interview room, and Amy and the solicitor followed.
‘Do you know Bill Rand or anyone from the Ranto company?’
‘No comment.’
‘Did you pay someone to shoot George?’
Taylor looked at his solicitor.
‘No comment.’
‘OK. Let’s go back outside again.’ Rob gestured to the door behind him, and Taylor got up. Back in front of the custody sergeant, Rob took a good hold of Taylor.
Amy went straight into it, ‘I’m further arresting you for the murder of Steve George, my grounds are, you’ve failed to account, when questioned under caution, whether you planned his kidnapping. You have also refused to answer whether you paid someone to shoot him.’
Thomas allowed Taylor’s detention, Tim chalked up the new offence on the board. Rob returned Taylor to the cell, leaving the solicitor and Thomas at the desk.
‘You’re full of surprises,’ said the solicitor to Amy.
‘I asked the questions as they came. I had no plan, but we are where we are. It’s not for me to say, but I’d think we’ll charge your client with murder if he doesn’t talk soon. Do you want time with him?’
‘Yes please.’
Amy felt sorry for the solicitor. He looked old, and she wished he could be back home with his wife, watching TV, or whatever they did on a Sunday night.
‘Well, you’re on fire tonight Amy,’ Thomas said. ‘Do you want to call Mike and give him an update?’
‘We’ve been trying all night. They’re up North somewhere, lack of signal.’
‘Is it ok if Amy and I get food? We’ll be upstairs if you need us.’
Thomas nodded and watched Amy and Rob leave through the door into the station. The canteen was upstairs; Amy gave one of her crutches to Rob and grabbed the oak handrail with her right hand; she used the crutch in her left, and cleared the two flights, quicker than Rob. The canteen had a linoleum floor, five square windows in the white-painted brick walls and around ten tables with plastic chairs under them.
Rob glared at the rows of tuna baguettes and cheese rolls in the refrigerated tray.
‘Anything hot Debs?’ he said to the woman in the hatch.
‘We’re all done Rob, but you two look like you need more than a cheese roll.’ Debs was about seventy years old and spoke with a Glaswegian accent. Amy struggled to understand her most of the time.
‘I can get you some bacon on, would you take black pudding?’
Amy picked up a tuna baguette and placed it on the counter. The officers in the custody suite had heard about Amy’s leg, and had treated her no different to usual, making a conscious effort.
The sight of Amy on one leg was a shock to poor Debs, and it showed on her face.
‘It’s OK Debs. I’ll be ok.’
‘You poor thing.’
Amy’s energy drained; she sat down at the table with Rob, and ate the baguette, Debs brought them both steaming mugs of tea. Amy put in two sugars.
They ate in silence. Tim popped his head around the door. ‘They’re ready for you downstairs.’
Thomas acknowledged them as Amy and Rob returned to the interview room. Taylor sat and didn’t speak.
The solicitor said, ‘I’ve spoken to my client, and he’s prepared a written statement I intend to read to you. After I’ve read the statement, my client will not answer questions.’
FORTY-THREE
Daily stretching improves body and mind: a gem of advice that Jamie had shared with Amy, but had failed to influence her. Jamie’s workouts, in between shifts, always finished with stretching.
He heaved his body to the edge of the bed, jackknifed his legs in the air and rolled so that the bed crashed to the floor. Jamie lay on his side for a few seconds; he could always say he’d had a nightmare if a guard came; it was true.
No-one came.
Jamie lifted his knee and extended his leg, hooked his toes underneath the knob on the top drawer of the unit, and opened it. He then shoved the heel of his foot into the drawer and yanked his leg down, bringing the drawer unit with it.
The unit fell onto him, and the contents spilt onto the floor. In the dim light from the clock it was hard to make out the shapes: packs of bandages and plasters for sure, but nothing useful.
And then Jamie saw the handle of the tough cut scissors poking from underneath a cardboard box.
The guards had taken his shoes, and he used his left big toe to drag the scissors over to him. If the guards had tied him around the upper arms, he’d have had no chance, but they had been more worried about his hands.
The tips of the scissor blades were ajar, and Jamie forced them into the gap between his wrist and the cable tie, using his feet; he used his heel to wedge them in tight. Gentle pressure was all it took to cut the first tie. The second one was easy.
Jamie stood and walked into th
e atrium, and thought he saw stars, through the glass overhead. He entered the room containing Max.
Max’s bed had rotated to the prone position. Jamie walked through the door in the screen and sat in the chair next to Max for a while and thought. Taking Max now and getting back to the car was possible but risky; better to let Julia wake Max.
Jamie took the stairs back up to the ground level and hit the green button. The air was colder than yesterday and moist. Jamie tilted his head back and gazed at the roof, which was about twenty metres above him. Louvres had opened to bring in the night air; fans blew the air towards the concrete floor and out towards the server racks.
The lights were dim, and thousands of blue blinks from the machines lit his way. Jamie passed a room full of batteries and another with generators. The ten-minute walk in the cold air helped to clear his head and work the sedative from his system. He arrived at the door to the office. One guard slept on the sofa, and another sat behind the desk, awake and drinking from a Styrofoam cup.
The top of the office block was open to the warehouse; a ledge protruded from the plant room, with a safety rail across the opening. At the other end, an escape stair rose from the ground.
Jamie crossed to the base of the escape stair and climbed. He reached the third floor and pushed the door which refused to move. Jamie gazed over the expanse of servers below, and then up to the roof rafters, only a few feet above his head. He climbed the safety rail and stared at the steel rafter in front of him.
Jamie had worked as an instructor at a kids camp, in his holidays before the police. One activity involved jumping from a platform fifteen feet in the air, out until they caught a trapeze. An operator adjusted the trapeze according to the height and confidence of the child. Jamie was the only instructor to make the catch at full range.
He jumped; the painted steel bruised his hands as he caught the bottom edge of the rafter.
Jamie saw over the safety rail and onto the plant deck in the half-light. Mike appeared to be asleep in the wheelchair. Two men were sleeping in camp beds, and one was awake in a plastic chair armed with a rifle.
Jamie shimmied along the rafter, towards the safety rail. He needed to work his way along a few metres to get around the partition between the escape stair and the main deck. He took one hand off, moved it sideways and then placed it back, in silence, breathing through his nose.
The air was moist; droplets of water settled on his face; he was under one of the open louvres in the roof. The fresh air came in through the grille, a nozzle sprayed the air with water mist and fans propelled the micro cloud down to the floor.
Jamie hung in front of the rail; the guard with the rifle was around ten metres away and would hear him land. Jamie felt safe enough; ten metres was not enough distance for the man to bring the gun to bear on him.
Jamie pulled his legs into a pike position and then heaved himself back and swung; after three swings, he launched. His foot landed on the rail and sent a clang all the way to the other end. Jamie bounced, landed on the deck and sprinted over to the sentry in the chair.
The guard was slow and only brought his weapon around as Jamie’s heel slammed into his upper arm. Jamie took the rifle from the floor; the guard slumped against the wall with his open hands raised.
‘Better keep your hands there.’
The man complied.
The other guards rose from their camp beds; Jamie slid backwards along the wall, so all the guards were in front of him. Jamie checked the setting on the rifle, semi-automatic. It would release three-shot-bursts if he pulled the trigger.
‘Keep your hands where I can see them.’
The sleepy men followed the orders.
‘Mike,’ Jamie said.
No response. Mike didn’t move.
‘Did you drug him?’ Jamie pointed the rifle at the sentry but glanced over at the others.
‘No, and I don’t think he’s dead. He took a good beating though. We let him out so he could go for a piss, and he tried to grab my phone. He’s breathing; listen to him.’
‘Drag him over here away from you, bring cutters with you.’
The two sleepy guards took the sentry’s nod as an order. They pushed Mike over to Jamie and slid over a box cutter.
‘Cut him loose and get him out of that chair.’
The guards obliged and put Mike on a vacated camp bed. Jamie heard Mike breathing.
‘Now tie him to the chair.’ Jamie aimed his gun first at the man busy with the ties and then gestured at the sentry. Jamie searched them and found two handguns.
‘Are you all right Mike?’
‘Not in great shape.’
‘Mike, I could do with help to plan the next move.’
‘Get out of here and get help Jamie. I can’t stand up right now.’
‘No problem, I can carry you to the car. There are only a few guards there.’
Jamie put Mike on his shoulder, in a fireman’s lift, and moved towards the emergency stair. Julia stood in the doorway.
‘Don’t move,’ Jamie said. Julia took her chance and ran back down the stairs.
‘Sorry Mike,’ Jamie dropped Mike onto the bed and sprinted after Julia. She turned into the second-floor and ran along the corridor into a dead end.
‘You could jump through the window, or you can cuff yourself.’ Jamie threw over a set of handcuffs from his jacket pocket.
Julia chose the cuffs rather than the window.
FORTY-FOUR
Saltwater saved Roberts.
White foam lapped the wounds on his brow and stung his temple; Roberts opened his eyes and shivered. The tide had transformed the sandbank into an island; the water was still shallow, but deep enough to drown a man.
Roberts had an irresistible urge to scratch his face; red slime coated his fingers, and as he touched his face his hand stung too. Unable to see, Roberts staggered to his feet. He had experienced concussion before, nausea in his stomach confirmed that the rock had done temporary damage to his brain.
Roberts’s immediate priority was to get off the beach; the tide would not wait for him; the small sandbank had disappeared, and he stood with water over his toes. Through squinted eyes, he made out the shoreline and trudged towards it. The sandbank dipped away as he approached the beach, and soon he was waist high in water, and then neck high, and then swimming.
Roberts reached the new shoreline; the swim had washed most of the jelly stings from his face, but he still couldn’t open his eyes more than a fraction, and only in bursts. He walked up the dune, and his feet slipped back through the soft sand. Long grass, up to his shoulder, brushed him on either side as he reached the top.
Another squint through his stinging eyes showed a track through the grass over the dune. Roberts couldn’t see the end of the path but knew it would lead somewhere, and that was better than where he stood now. Roberts made his way by touch; he could feel the sand under his feet, and when he strayed off course, the texture would change to harder ground and vegetation. Roberts emerged from the track into a car park.
Weather had eroded the tarmac back to subbase. A few recreational vehicles contained sleeping occupants.
A brick hut stood at the corner of the car park, and Roberts went over to it. It was a toilet block with a metal gate padlocked shut; the campers had their own conveniences.
Roberts wanted to wash his face, and he kicked the gate in anger. He then thought of the source of his emotion: Teague. Maybe he’d kill him and make him suffer. Roberts hated himself for this unprofessional thought.
He peeped again through a tiny slot between his eyelids and made out another building on the other side of the parking area, and a giant tent. Roberts stumbled across the rough surface and banged into a motorbike; its owner was asleep on the beach.
The second building had boards advertising ice cream, chips and pizza.
Roberts kicked the lock, and the wood in the door frame shattered, as the door burst inwards. A serving counter was straight ahead, and a washbasin fixed b
ehind it.
He filled the basin with warm water, took off his shirt and washed his face, his neck, shoulders and arms too; the pain and itching disappeared. Roberts rinsed his face and dabbed a towel near his eyes. His vision was already much better, but the itching returned. Scrabbling around under the washbasin, he found a first aid kit with antihistamine cream and tablets.
Roberts rubbed the cream over his cheeks and under his eyelids, being careful not to get any in his eyes. He felt better: the placebo effect.
He took out a tub of ice cream from the freezer, mint choc chip. Roberts needed calories, and this would do. He ate the whole container and then downed a pint of water.
With his vision restored, Roberts left the beach café and stood on the dune at the edge of the car park. The rib and his lifeboat were bobbing around, re-floated by the incoming tide. He estimated where the sandbank had been, gazed along the beach line and spotted footsteps in the sand; the footsteps climbed a dune and disappeared as the surface turned to grass and became a track. A yellow arrow on a post pointed toward the footsteps.
Roberts followed the coastal path. He walked, at first looking around for turnoffs that Teague may have taken. The sea was on his left, and there was nothing but fields to his right. Roberts ran, up stone steps, through fields, down rocks, across beaches, and over bridges, until he came out onto a grassy headland.
He slowed to a jog and arrived at a beach where a few rowing boats berthed. A rocky island jutted out of the sea a few hundred metres in front of him, and a bigger island was visible miles away.
Roberts climbed the rocks at the end of the beach; the coastal path changed to asphalt as it reached the village.
He walked past a lifeboat station; there were houses with gardens to his right. He rounded a corner; a few fishing boats bobbed on their moorings in a bay.
Teague and his buddy were in the bay. They shifted a wooden rowing boat from the beach out into the water. They got the boat to the sea, climbed in and rowed.
Roberts saw their destination; a pleasure craft bobbed amongst the little fishing boats. It had only two outboard motors, nothing like the leviathan he’d run aground. It was a decent ride though that would get them to the mainland in an hour. They’d then be close to the fast road into England