Random Acts of Unkindness

by Jacqueline Ward

  I open the drawer. Of course, it’s gone. The chain and the pendant, along with a small collection of football cards, the ones that were quite valuable. I check the rest of the room and nothing else seems to be missing, except Aiden’s teddy, Jezzer. I go back to the drawer, remembering that Aiden had an old photograph of me and him playing with Ruby in the park, one that he treasures almost as much as the chain.

  I feel around the back of the drawer, finding bits and pieces that evoke memories. Finally, my fingers touch the smooth paper and I realize that he hasn’t taken it. But as I pull it out I see that I’m wrong. In fact, he has taken half of it. He’s ripped the photograph right down the middle and left the piece with my laughing face. Without Aiden and Ruby to put me in context, I look crazed. And I was a little crazed. With love. I console myself with the fact that maybe only Sal had been here.

  Then it strikes me. Had Aiden been here and seen the carnage? Had he seen death? If he was, he was implicated. I’d never wanted a moment of pain for him and even now, knowing what he had done to me, I still feel faint knowing that he could have been a part of this. No. It would have been Sal. In any case, it’s too late now. I can hear Mike’s car outside and I’m downstairs, frozen to the spot, as he walks in and sees Sheila first.

  ‘Jan. Jan, are you OK?’

  He rushes over and puts his arms around me, looking all the time at the mess and the bodies.

  ‘I’ve been here ages, Mike, trying to get through. What the hell’s going on?’

  ‘Fucking Connelly. When he got word that we’d busted the Gables, he made a run for it. Ordered all the CCTV and the phone networks to be disabled as a last hurrah. Bastard.’

  I draw away from him.

  ‘So you haven’t got him? He’s still on the loose?’

  Mike shakes his head.

  ‘Yeah. We’ve had a few sightings at the airport. Put out an All Ports call. Probably gone by now. But he won’t be back.’ He moves into the kitchen and I follow him. The airport. Oh my God. Not with Sal and Aiden. Keep your enemies closer. Mike feels Sharon’s pulse in exactly the same place I did. ‘Poor buggers. They didn’t stand a chance. Whoever did this is an animal.’

  The rest of the team arrives and a couple of paramedics check the bodies over. I stay crouched onto the bottom stair, watching as my house is dismantled. There’s a sense of anger, and unspoken air of camaraderie, after all, these girls were coppers, and this is a copper’s house. We’re all in it together. Like Sheila has said, they were like my sisters. Whoever did this is an animal.

  Of course, I had the chance to tell Mike who did this when he said it. I could have told him all about Sal and Connelly, but somehow it didn’t seem like the right time. He’s leaning on the back door now, checking his phone. I go over and try to find out what happened last night.

  ‘So. What went on after I left?’

  He nods and smiles.

  ‘Ah. After you left. Where did you go, by the way? Not here, obviously.’

  ‘No. I went up to the reservoir. I needed to get my head together.’

  He sniggers.

  ‘Story, more like. Stewart’s looking for you.’

  ‘Oh yeah. Why?’

  He puts the phone away.

  ‘How did you know? About the Gables. How did you get that information? And don’t give me no shit. How did you find out?’

  I think about Bessy. No. That would be a betrayal.

  ‘I just had a hunch. I was looking at some old cases and I don’t know, I found out John Connelly was a butchers and . . .’

  ‘So it was Mr Connelly in the butchers with a knife. Fuck off, Jan. You’ve been a wild card lately. Everything around you turns to shit, doesn’t it? There’s something more. Something I can’t put my finger on.’

  The threads, Mike, draw the threads together. Do me a favour and realise it was Sal. But he doesn’t.

  ‘Yeah, well, I’ve had a lot on my mind. You know, Mike, most of it fitted together. You know, about Aiden and the other missing kids. I don’t know, maybe it was the extra motivation. Do you know I’ve spent every waking hour since Aiden went missing, wondering if some criminal has got hold of him? You’ve got a son. How would you feel if you had no fucking idea where he was. Eh? Now ask me again what more there is. He’s my son, Aiden, and those boys are all sons. That’s the something more.’

  He’s gone very pale now and he backs away from me.

  ‘But they don’t happen that often, these kind of cases, do they? Life’s just not that dangerous you know. For kids, like.’

  ‘Isn’t it? Few and far between? Eh, Mike? It’s more dangerous than we think, because it’s unthinkable. That’s what someone said to me many years ago, and I believed them. But if I had my time again, I’d never let Aiden out of my sight.’

  I think about Ted and his wise words. Mike shakes his head.

  ‘Yeah, the unthinkable, carried out by crazies. Psychopaths. Only you’re right, there seems to be a lot more of it these days. A lot more.’

  A paramedic comes in to examine Sharon’s body and we move over to the window. I can feel the tears welling up as I realise the women who only this morning called me sister were prepared for the mortuary.

  ‘Is there? Is there really a lot more, or do we just hear about it more. John Connelly has been prolific in this area from around 1960, and his son after him. Selling young boys and girls to clients visiting the Gables, then, when they’re finished with, killing them and disposing of their bodies, one way or another. Yes, I’ve said it. That’s what he was doing, using those kids to placate the criminal acts of those prepared to pay large sums for it. Looking back in the files, back to the sixties, it was suggested then that he was involved in the disappearances, around the times of the Moors Murders. But he used that as a cover for his own criminal activity, portraying himself as an upright member of the community. When all the time he was doing this. Not that we’ve got any solid proof.’ No. Only Bessy’s notebooks, which I can’t submit as evidence as then they’ll know I took them.

  Mike sighs.

  ‘But what more could we have done? It’s like, no body, no murder. What more could we have done?’

  I stare through the window as Sharon’s body is covered, ready for a body bag.

  ‘We could have listened. To people like me. To mothers and fathers. To good coppers with a hunch.’

  He nods.

  ‘Yeah. You’re right. But where do you draw the line? If we do that, we’ll be taking statements off psychics next.’

  Psychics. As if on cue, Jim Stewart appears at the door and I remember that I have no idea if Bessy has told anyone about the money. But he bypasses me completely and looks around the room.

  ‘Bloody hell. Who’d do this?’

  Mike and I look at each other. He beats me to it.

  ‘Some kind of psychopath. Some kind of twisted fucking psychopath.’

  Jim shakes his head. He looks very tired and drawn. I can’t tell him about Sal. I can’t. Because then I might be telling him about Aiden. Jim continues.

  ‘Psychopath season round here at the moment. What with all that business up the road.’ He turns to me. ‘Unorthodox methods, but well done for calling it. You shouldn’t have gone in there on your own, though.’

  I look at the bloodstained tiles.

  ‘Am I suspended, then?’

  He laughs and it somehow sounds inappropriately loudly.

  ‘No. No. Not for now. But take a couple of days off, just to settle yourself down. You’ve been through a lot. I had a word with your husband the other day . . .’

  ‘Ex-husband. Ex. Husband. Sir. Please. Ex.’

  ‘Ex-husband. He was saying that you are a bit, well, how can I put this, more highly strung than usual.’

  I snort.

  ‘How the fuck would he know? With respect.’

  ‘Well, he does spend a lot of time with you, and he’s been supporting you through your problems with your son. Who, I’m pleased to say, doesn’t appear to have
been involved in the terrible business at the Gables.‘

  It’s difficult, but I control my temper. Watch what I say. It’s not the time.

  ‘As far as you know. Who’s to say they haven’t got rid of him, like some of the others?’

  Jim nods.

  ‘Well, he wasn’t in any of the records. I personally supervised a search of those records for him as we were afraid that . . .’

  ‘Yeah, well, that’s one less dead boy to worry about isn’t it? For you, anyway. Was there anything else? I need to find somewhere to stay.’

  Mike intervenes.

  ‘Won’t Sal put you up for a bit? Till all this is sorted out.’

  I stare at Jim, to see if he flinches, to see if he knows anything. He doesn’t bat an eyelid.

  ‘I can’t contact him. I’ve been trying to phone him.’

  Instead, he fixes me with his gaze. He touches his head and points at me.

  ‘Oh yes. There was one more thing. That woman, the one in Ney Street who you found, did you know there’d been a baby’s corpse found in the house? The forensics came through and said it’d been moved recently, probably the same day. And there was something about some forensics being there. Did you search the house? It’s just that there’s also been some neighbour claiming that she was loaded. Claims she saw the old woman with a bundle of notes in her shopping bag but we looked at her bank account and we didn’t find much. Any ideas?’

  ‘Mmm. Jack told me about the human remains. Anyone could have got in, though, the back door was wide open when I tried it.’

  Mike interrupts.

  ‘But wouldn’t anyone who went in call us?’

  I nod.

  ‘Yeah, unless they were after . . . something. You know, a thief.’

  Jim shakes his head.

  ‘Sad business, this day and age, old people lying dead in their homes for who knows how long. Bloody hell.’

  ‘God job I found her then, isn’t it?’ More than they know. Without Bessy, I’d never have been able find out about the Gables. ‘And before you ask, I got the info on the Gables from the archives. Put two and two together. And when I was up at the reservoir last night, I remembered something else I’d seen, when I was up at the community centre, a picture of old Connelly outside the Gables gates, with what appeared to be a grid with a furnace underneath it. Could that be how, you know . . .’

  Mike nods.

  ‘Yeah. Yeah. There is a huge brick crater, set quite far back, leading to some corrugated iron doors, looked like a strange area but . . .’ I see the horror spread across his face. ‘You don’t think . . . ?’

  I nod.

  ‘Yes, I do think. I also think that they only burned the bodies every bonfire night, so as to not attract attention at a derelict building. That’s what I heard one of the guards say.’

  Mike shakes his head.

  ‘This is fucking unbelievable. Too horrible for words. It’s something you would never think would happen.’

  I nod again.

  ‘Exactly. And that’s how they got away with it. They relied on us being good people. On us, hardened police, even us not believing that someone could be so evil.’

  They both stare at me. Jim scratches his head.

  ‘Are you sure you got this from research? Just from reading the archives?’

  Yes. Yes. I did. But not the police archives. The archives of someone’s life, someone who needed to let another person know their reasons. They passed it on.

  ‘Yes. I got it all from reading the archives. You know, it’s like old time detective work, before computers. Now we’re just sitting at desks watching CCTV. Reading peoples’ phone messages, checking bank accounts. Obviously you need the backup and the evidence, but it doesn’t hurt to think about it and do a bit of background.’

  Mike nods, but neither of them agree. Mike looks around. The forensics team is here and it’s obviously time to go.

  ‘Look, just try Sal again and if he doesn’t reply, come back to the station and we’ll sort something out.’

  I go upstairs with a forensics guy, who marks down exactly what I take from my room.

  ‘Anything missing that you have noticed? Not that it’d be so easy to see. But anything valuable gone?’

  Yes. Yes. Something valuable has gone. My son.

  ‘Not that I can see. But I’ll try to think once, you know . . .’

  ‘Yes, of course, Mrs Margiotta.’

  ‘It’s DC Janet Pearce, for the record.’

  He pulls his hood down.

  ‘Oh. Right. Sorry, only Jim Stewart said . . .’

  ‘OK. My name is not Margiotta. It’s DC Pearce. Got it?’ I pick up a letter from my dressing table and show him. ‘See? DC Janet Pearce.’

  He holds his hands up in mock dismay.

  ‘Right. That’s fine. No need to get upset.’

  I walk downstairs with my overnight bag. I slip out the side door and grab the archived cases and Bessy’s notes out of my bike box before Jim and Mike leave the house. No. No need to get upset is there? Dead bodies everywhere and my son taken away by his father.

  As we walk toward Jim Stewart’s car, I try to resist it but I can’t. I try to resist fighting against the inevitable, that Aiden has chosen to go. And not even taken a photograph. It’s still not right. Aiden would never go voluntarily. He would never leave like this. And that’s why I almost forget my instinct to duck when the first bullet is fired.

  It glances my cheek, but I manage to push Jim to the ground as the second one hits the garage door. Mike is lying beside me and for a moment I think he’s hit, but he rolls over and speed dials tactical. I hear him speaking gently but clearly.

  ‘Two gunmen in a car. Opposite Jan’s house, where the others were killed earlier on.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I put my hand on Jim’s arm and he moves it to one side, just to show me he’s OK. Mike’s still got his phone to his ear, waiting for the next move. He rolls back toward me slowly.

  ‘Jan. Can you crawl to the edge of the car and see if those four who were over there are OK? And get Jim’s phone. Mine keeps going dead. All the phone masts are out. You need to keep a line open with tactical if you can. Apparently it’s getting a bit rough out there, some comms are out, probably to let Connelly escape undetected. Oh, and intelligence says there’s a contract out on us. That’s what they’re here for.’

  I nod. Then I roll. I can just see under the car, over to the other side of the road. One of the uniformed is trying to get my attention. He’s making the sign for one man down, and I give him a thumbs-up. I roll back and Jim hands me his phone. I open the address book and scroll down past all Jim’s relatives and friends, scrolling to reach T. But I stop at S. Salvador Margiotta. Why has he got Sal’s number? I didn’t realize they were such good pals.

  Time and a place, Jan, time and a place. I scroll down and call tactical, and the line’s no better on Jim’s phone. Minutes pass without anything happening at all and then I hear a car door open and the crunch of gravel, closer and closer, up my drive, stopping for a second. I can see his feet. Vans. White socks. Thick ankles. I can feel Mike staring at me, his eyes wet with fear. He takes my hand and whispers quietly.

  ‘If this is it, I want you to know I always believed you. I get it. I always did. I was just worried about you.’

  Closer and closer, until he’s nearly on top of us. He’s at the other end of the car, opposite us. I hear him take the safety catch of the weapon and I think I hear him take aim. Then I hear a shot. We all tense. Ready for the impact, and I wonder which one of us it will be.

  I see the starlings on the roof beyond the trees scatter and reform in a swirl, and then I hear a crash as the gunman crumbles to the ground. More footsteps, turning into a run, this time getting quieter then, further away, a single shot and they stop.

  We all lay quietly for a moment, until a black figure lowers his gun.

  ‘Get up. Up. Go, go, go. Into the van.’

  We all somehow g
et up and make a run for it, over the dead gunman, away from his dead friend. I see three policemen carrying their injured colleague into their car and speed off. I didn’t wait to see if they avoid the body in the road, but I suspect they don’t by the dull thump of tyres hitting tarmac. We make it to the van and the doors are slammed shut. There are two armed policemen inside, and one of them takes off his helmet.

  ‘Is everyone all right? Sir?’

  Jim nods.

  ‘Yes. Yes. Just take us to ops. And I want an armed guard to pick up my family and take them to Point C. Mike?’

  Mike shakes his head.

  ‘I suppose I’ll have to. Yes. Can I phone my wife and let her know?’

  Jim nods.

  ‘Yeah. You can if you can get a signal. It’s like the wild fucking west out there. Jan? What about you?’

  I stare at him. Has he suddenly forgotten that my son is missing and my ex-husband is a bastard?

  ‘Just me, sir. Just me.’

  He frowns.

  ‘What about Sal?’

  In some ways I’m glad he’s saying it. It kind of proves that he’s not in league with him, not unless he’s very clever and bluffing. But I doubt it.

  ‘Why would Sal have anything to do with this? Sal is nothing to do with me.’

  He nods now.

  ‘Yeah. I know. I do know. But he’s got your best interests at heart. Me and Sal, we’ve become kind of close, you know. He does care about you.’

  Again, this would have been an ideal opportunity to tell him that Sal had killed three of his officers and skipped the country. But again, I don’t. I can’t. So I don’t say anything. I reason with myself that there’ll be plenty of time later on to put all the pieces together, when I know what really happened.

  We sit in silence until we get to the station. I guard my bag as if it was my life, and as we make a dash from the van to the door, and finally behind the bulletproof glass we can breathe again, I still wonder where they are now. Where they have gone?