Simon had seconds and he knew it. With great effort, he hutched slightly forward in his chair. Reaching around to the back of his trouser waistband he took out the Lithuanian’s gun. He spoke in a sluggish far away voice.
“Sorry. I can’t let you do that.”
Doctor Bandell looked prudently towards the black shaking muzzle of the MP-443 automatic. It seemed to be dancing all over the place. It was apparent to her that enough sedative had got into him. She was sure he would pass out quickly but the shaking gun pointed in her direction was intimidating her. This was the first time she had had a gun pointed at her in her long life and she definitely didn’t like it. Killing someone had always been easy for her with the use of a syringe and her victims had never fought back before.
With fading eyes and a quickly growing heavy arm, he raised the gun. It was shaking. He tried to steady it. There was only one thing for it. Simon pulled the trigger as the gun was pointed in the general direction of the doctor. He kept pulling the trigger which became more of an effort each time. The recoil helped keep the gun up. Five shots echoed around the room deafening both him and the doctor. He didn’t care. He could no longer see. Three shots hit the ceiling and one lodged in the floor. The fourth in the sequence had gone through the doctor’s right eye and out through the back of her head with part of her brain and most of her skull. She had fallen on top of Mercedes. Simon saw nothing, he was unconscious.
137
Sunday 19th June 2011
“Incident room.”
“Is that you Paul?”
“No. It’s Chief Constable Robertson.”
“Sorry sir. It’s Vince Casey. I’m team leader of the surveillance team.”
“I know who you are Vince. Have you some good news?”
“Yes, and no sir. We watched a male, I believe Haskland, get into the Micra and drive to one of the grace and favour cottages in Fishbourne. Its occupied by an elderly lady called Jean. From this morning’s briefing, it appears that she is possibly Sally’s Mother and Deborah’s Grandmother. At the moment, there has been no sighting of Deborah. Until I can confirm she is present, I intend to wait.”
“Make sure you get confirmed sight of both before you nick them.”
“Yes sir. I thought I should phone in case there was any update.”
“Right thing to do. Don’t lose him Vince. I want these bastards in the pokey tonight.”
“We have a chase car running with us that could keep up with this Micra without getting into third gear!”
“Stick to it like glue, and Vince: see me when you get back.”
“Yes sir.”
Vince switched his covert radio back on and updated his team who all confirmed receipt in call sign order. There were three vehicles with drivers’ eyes on the parked Micra. Several officers had left their cars and were on foot loitering in positions to keep the back and front of the premises clearly in view. A motorcyclist was fetching teas and coffee from a local café and supplying the team members surreptitiously as and when he could. The marked chase car, a BMW that was coloured yellow in a ‘Battenberg’ pattern was parked out of sight half a mile away with its two uniformed traffic officers desperate to be involved. Today was the first day Vince had ever had a full team of nine unmarked vehicles, a covert motorcyclist and twelve officers and a dedicated chase car. Everyone, it appeared, in Sussex Police wanted to be involved.
The clock ticked on. Every fifteen minutes, Vince called each person in turn and rotated his officers. Then out of sequence, the concealed miniscule radio receiver in the foot officer’s ears and the receivers in the vehicles suddenly crackled. They all knew the crackle was usually prior to a message. Each one suddenly became more alert. The chase car crew started their engine ready for a quick take off.
“For information, the older woman, possibly Jean, has just put some rubbish in her dustbin.”
All bar Vince relaxed.
“Was that genuine or was she looking?”
The officer thought for a couple of seconds, “She looked about, but I don’t think she was looking for us.”
Vince knew his team well and trusted the officer’s judgement.
“Ok everyone. Relax.”
Ten minutes later they were back on tenterhooks. The man they referred to as subject two, Haskland, jogged out of the front door and to his car. He had no idea that nine vehicles were soon following him and rotating every few junctions. It was a drive of just over twenty miles to Durrington using the main roads and then the Micra just stopped dead in the street outside the railway station. It didn’t pull over or into a parking space, it just stopped. An irate business man in the vehicle directly behind lent on his horn which elicited a ‘finger’ out of the driver’s window from Haskland.
The following surveillance officer in his vehicle that was three back in the traffic saw a young woman who he believed to be Deborah step off the kerb and get into the passenger seat. The whole team knew within five seconds. Subject one, Deborah, was now in play. Then the Micra pulled off back in the empty road in front of it.
Vince called up the chase car.
“It’s all yours. Stop it.”
At the conclusion of Vince’s message, the team heard the sirens start. So did both subjects although none could see exactly where it was coming from they could all hear it was behind them and making ground. The Micra shot right into a side street nearly wiping out a couple of pedestrians. A surveillance vehicle followed now without clandestineness constantly updating the traffic car. It was no longer a wait and watch exercise, but an arrest scenario. The Micra dodged and weaved in the backstreets but was no match for the large marked BMW that soon caught up and practically latched onto its bumper as the surveillance vehicle well-nigh jumped out of the way.
It would not stop. The traffic officers reported to the Sussex Control Room they were now in pursuit of two suspects for murder. The Control Room Duty Inspector, official known as OPS 1, was already aware as he had been monitoring the radio transmissions from within his ‘glass bubble’ office. His four display monitors were all in use. One showed all the locations of the Police vehicles following the suspects’ vehicle on a scrolling map. The surveillance vehicles appeared to be all overlapping each other as they followed the traffic car. Another showed an image from a forward pointing camera from the traffic car.
One was a relay from the fastest typist who was a member of the Control Room Staff in the main office spread out before his ‘bubble’. It was lines of text which she was typing as radio transmissions were heard. A full transcript would be prepared by her later from the tapes that were recording everything. The last was displaying a still image of a patch of grass.
He had already been briefed earlier that morning personally by the CC of the potential arrests and what he expected from him. Sussex and Surrey’s joint helicopter was ‘resting’ at Goodwood aerodrome but was off the ground and heading towards the Durrington area within seconds. The patch of grass grew smaller as the helicopter became airborne and the image showed the countryside and then buildings racing past some hundred feet below.
Marked traffic cars driven by advanced drivers started to converge on Durrington from all points of West Sussex as OPS 1 switched the text to show the image from the second traffic vehicle that was closing rapidly on the chase. The Control Room Duty Inspector continually stipulated over the radio only two vehicles to engage in the pursuit. He was the arbiter of how any pursuit was to be conducted. He knew today it was likely a lost cause.
The Micra was no match for any of the surveillance vehicles let alone the large traffic cars. It still was not stopping. No Police vehicle seemed to be able to anticipate where it was going or get in front of it to stop it. It dodged and weaved about both side roads and main thoroughfares. It reached Goring traversing more side roads in a vain effort to lose the following pack. Eventually passing through Goring it entered Ferring and bounced over occasional ‘sleeping policeman’ dotted along private roads as it neared the sea. Local
officers knew it was running out of options. The Duty Inspector was monitoring its progress on his map and watching the live feeds fed into his Control Room from the helicopter and traffic vehicles. He could see it was now only a matter of minutes until the subjects were apprehended.
There was only one way left for the Micra to travel. Between two six feet high brick walls towards the Bluebird Café’s gravelled car park. One way in and the same way out, or so the pursuers thought. Without slowing down, the car did not turn to the right as expected, but accelerated hard straight on past the last beach hut and onto the shingle leading down to the sand. Its speed was just sufficient to allow it to clear the shingle without being dragged to a halt.
All the pursuers, bar the helicopter came to a standstill. The bigger traffic cars would have ground to a halt and sunk in the shingle. No one else was willing to risk it.
The Duty Inspector watched agog at the live feed as the Micra hurtled onto the beach with the helicopter no more than six feet above it. Under his breath he kept saying, “‘Please don’t crash.” Everyone in the Control Room knew the pilot had been recruited from the Navy on his retirement. He had been a specialist low flyer, but he could still come unstuck.
All the operators in the Control Room had turned to watch the twenty large screens against the wall which showed various images from cameras around Sussex. They could see the four which OPS 1 was monitoring and were agape. Marked Police cars and surveillance vehicles were all trying to manoeuvre in the car park. Some officers were trying to check Sat Navs and others had paper maps. All searching for a way onto the beach.
Punters at the café had all rushed out to watch as the cacophony of sirens had arrived, and were now bemused at the antics of the car and the helicopter as they raced around the sands and then on towards Angmering and Littlehampton.
As soon as Vince had unleashed the chase car he phoned the incident room. Paul had answered and groups of detectives had rushed out of the building to crowd around cars that had radios. Passing uniform officers stopped to listen in. Groups of civilian workers left their offices to step outside and also listen. John sat in his car with his radio on high volume. Doreen was in the front seat and Paul in the back on a mobile to the CC. No one in Sussex had heard such a chase and word spread quickly as to who were in the vehicle.
The Duty Inspector had regained his composure and was directing vehicles to access points along the route. ‘Under no circumstances’ the CC had told him, ‘are the two subjects to be allowed to escape.’ The first ‘four by four’ marked Police vehicle got to the Angmering yacht club and weaved past some bemused sailors and onto the beach via their slip way. The crew could see the helicopter above the Micra racing towards them and the driver accelerated towards the sea and after it as it hurtled past. The Micra was rounding breakwaters by going into the shallow water pools which seemed to have formed around them as the tide was on the turn and coming in. Any further out and the sea water would have slowed it down or forced it to a halt if it infiltrated the engine. Several bathers were clipped and other beach users didn’t know which way to run. The shallow water was no bar to the traffic car.
OPS 1 came off the phone to the CC and immediately called the pursuing traffic officers.
“You are authorised to use any means to stop the vehicle. Protection of the public is paramount. Do it now.”
Nothing else was said. The officers knew what was meant. People on the beach were seriously at risk and the beach off Rustington was crowded with locals and holiday makers alike. At the next breakwater as the Micra started to go around, the large ‘four by four’ BMW rammed the rear offside of it at speed. On tarmac, the Micra would probably have spun to a halt which is what the advanced Police driver expected to happen.
It didn’t.
The Micra was like paper and did not spin on the sand. It just crumpled and rolled over. The speed of the BMW carried it over the rolling car. Both subjects in the car were seriously injured as the BMW came to rest on top of the upside down Micra.
The helicopter landed higher up the beach on the dry sand and the crew ran back. The two officers climbed down out of their vehicle and looked in the crumpled cabin of the Micra. Deborah was hanging upside down held in place by her seatbelt. She was a mass of blood. Her boyfriend, Haskland, was crushed with his head on the roof which was now next to the sand, and it was slowly filling with water with each gently lapping wave. If he wasn’t dead as a result of the ramming, he was likely to drown as the water seeped in. Neither could be got out without cutting equipment and it was likely to be too late coming.
The Control Room Duty Inspector had witnessed the crash via the helicopter’s camera and was instantly aware of the situation. Fire brigade assistance was called for, but they were not sure if they could get an engine onto the beach. They stated they would try. Whatever had been asked of them before they had achieved and today the Duty Inspector had no doubts they would not fail. Emergency medical assistance was called and they dispatched ambulances and their own helicopter. Those on the ground believed it would be far too late for subject two.
138
Sunday 19th June 2011
Ian rang Simon’s number for the second time. Simon could feel the little mobile vibrating in his pocket but could not move to get it. He was conscious and aware of his surroundings, but could not move and felt like a piece of lead. The house he knew was secure. How long he had been out was anyone’s guess. At least he could see he was now alone, bar RD, and still alive. Slowly, he realised he could move a little. His strength seemed to be returning. Another five minutes made all the difference. His head was clearing, but he felt a little nauseous. There was no pain. Feeling for his phone, he rang Ian. He didn’t quite trust himself to stand up just yet. His gun was on the floor where it had previously fallen. It could stay there for another ten minutes.
Just short of an hour later, he met Ian and his advanced apprentice Laura in the free car park. Handing the jute bag to him, the young woman snaffled the phones and with nimble fingers she soon confirmed Greg’s new phone number and Jackie’s two mobile numbers and a new number for Yusef. Nothing really of much use. It wouldn’t have taxed Simon to have established the numbers if he had been firing on all cylinders. He asked Ian if he could stay in the area for a day as he expected more productive phones would be available. Then they left in different directions. Both with index numbers unobtainable to any camera. Simon left his car in the hotel’s car park having entered via the exit. He was soon in bed and fast asleep.
When Simon awoke he was incensed. He knew ‘action was quicker than reaction’ but he was too slow to dodge an old lady, who, with no good reason, he had trusted. As a result, he had killed her which was something he hadn’t wanted or expected to do. Now with his baseball cap pulled low, he walked out of his room and into the Beefeater restaurant next to the hotel which was a risk but a necessity as he desperately needed food. His throat was dry, and he believed it all to be a consequence of the drug the doctor had stuck in him. He needed to be on top form if he was to face any further challenges.
Thinking what Jackie would have done when she had discovered the bodies was troubling him. Would she call the Police or tell Greg? Unlikely she would tell the Police anything, and the chance of Greg returning to the house was negligible. Would she tell Yusef? Had the guards told Yusef? That was a strong probability. Would Yusef take precautions? If he knew, very likely. Was RD dead? He didn’t really care one way or another.
He needn’t have worried. She was still tucked up in New York with her current toy boy, a second rate model looking for a rich woman to ponce off. An extra day or two in bed with a fit young stud would make her feel so good. Then she could ditch him and fly home. Jackie was happy in the thought that Mercedes would still be running the show with Greg. No one other than her murderous blackmailed doctor was due to be visiting the house. She was so confident, she didn’t even try to contact Mercedes.
Simon had checked his phone when he got up. No warni
ngs from anyone. He would still be cautious. No Police activity yet in the cul-de-sac or he would have been made aware by Graham or John. That meant none of the occupants of the other houses in the cul-de-sac was making any fuss about the empty security box. They would not dare challenge RD removing the guards even though they had not clapped eyes on him for at least five years. His reputation was such that to question him was to die, or worse, a major beating first. Some had heard the gunshots during the night and in the morning, but what happened at RD’s was not their concern.
To call the Police was another route to the cemetery.
He ate his fill and felt better for it. He drank several glasses of water and a cup of coffee. It just about lubricated the dryness in his throat. Such a small quantity of sedative should have such a large effect was new to him. Bombs, knives and guns he could deal with, but little needles were a new experience for Simon and he didn’t like it. How he was caught by an old lady annoyed him even more. Her age and proclaimed profession had lulled him into a false sense of security which was nearly his downfall. Had his wild firing not killed her he knew he would never have woken. He shuddered.
Occasional heavy raindrops started to plop against the windows of the restaurant. They got steadily faster. Simon sat and supped a beer as he watched the water running off the glass. As quickly as it had started, it stopped. An April shower in June. He strolled back to the hotel, and checking his baseball cap, he pushed open the glass door. By the reception desk with his back towards him was a large man in a crumpled black suit. He only heard a few words.
“If you see anyone like that, it’s a straight grand. You know who to call.”
Simon recognised the voice. It was the man he had thrown the boiling water at.
Stopping by a drinks dispensing machine, he turned his back and started to fumble in his pocket for some loose change. He watched the poor reflection in the glass as the man turned away from the reception desk to exit the hotel. Putting money into the machine, he bought a small bottle of water. The man didn’t leave the hotel, but stood by the dispenser waiting for Simon to complete his transaction. His face was blotched with red areas where the water had burnt him. Thinking quickly, Simon knew he had not been seen at either time because he had been wearing his balaclava. But why was he looking for him?
An Urgent Murder Page 44