Back-Slash

by Bill Kitson

  ‘Partly, I had to clear myself too.’

  ‘If you hadn’t, I’d have spent the rest of my life in prison. Whatever the reason I’m bloody glad you did. I owe you; big time.’

  ‘You can repay me later.’

  ‘That’s a promise,’ Rourke told him.

  ‘It’s time we were off, Alan,’ Nash reminded him. ‘Mr Rourke, for the time being all communication should be through me, or from mobile to mobile.’ He gave Rourke his card. ‘And, one more thing. I want you to take extra care until this is all wrapped up.’ He looked across at Tara. ‘That applies to both of you. Make sure no harm comes to you and that nobody can get at you via Tara. Remember, these are desperate men playing for very high stakes. They’ll stop at nothing. We’re only talking a matter of days, but you now know what they’re capable of. Be on your guard.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s necessary? You’re not overdramatizing?’

  ‘You haven’t seen the files on the murders Brown’s committed, and the “accidents” he’s arranged. If they’ve one person like Brown, they may have others. Don’t forget we haven’t identified everyone yet. Until then, trust nobody. Keep clear of tall buildings and out of the way of excavator blades and deep trenches whose sides could cave in. When this is over I’ll need a statement from you.’

  On the return journey they discussed the meeting. ‘What still surprises me is how easy it was,’ Marshall said. ‘I admit I wasn’t thinking straight at the time, and later I didn’t want to dwell on the past, but I never doubted that letter originated from Harry.’

  ‘And he simply took Harrison’s word for it,’ Nash replied. ‘He believed you’d resigned without asking to see your letter. I bet Harrison had one ready in case Rourke asked for it. As you say, it was dead easy.’

  ‘That’s because Harrison was in a position of trust,’ Marshall said quietly. ‘What possible motive could he have for lying about something that was apparently no concern of his?’

  ‘Even tonight, I don’t think Rourke would have believed you, had you not taken the evidence along,’ Lisa added. ‘Unless we’d introduced Mike earlier.’

  ‘Harrison’s worked for him over twenty-five years. It must have come as a hell of a shock.’

  ‘What do you remember about Harrison?’ Nash asked.

  ‘Not much really. Not in a business sense anyway. He was the perfect second in command, quietly efficient. A good manager and administrator. Apart from work I can only recall a couple of things.’ Marshall thought for a moment, ‘No, three actually.’

  ‘What were they?’

  ‘He’d a passion for gardening; roses and orchids in particular. He used to win lots of prizes at local shows with his blooms. Gardening and girls were his two main hobbies. He was forever chasing women, without much success. Freddie had a sort of smarmy charm. Some girls fell for it; others found it a turn-off.’

  ‘And your other memory?’

  ‘Nothing important; just one of those small things that mark people out. He’d spent time abroad with the RAF. That might have been where he met Corps. Whilst he was out there, Harrison developed a craving for curry. We used to go out for a drink when a contract was completed and we’d almost always finish up at an Indian restaurant. Freddie used to order a curry so hot nobody else could go near it. He must have a stomach of steel.’

  ‘I have to say, none of it makes him sound like the monster who’d calmly order all these murders, just like ordering a curry,’ Lisa commented.

  ‘That’s what people always say after a murderer’s identity is revealed,’ Nash told them. ‘You must have heard it dozens of times: “He was such a polite, quiet man. Helped old ladies across the road, carried their shopping”, that sort of remark. I know, because I’ve met a lot of them. And the very worst ones seemed perfectly normal, average blokes you wouldn’t give a second glance to. Until you found out what they’d done.’

  ‘Is everything going to plan, Harry?’

  ‘More or less. Rourke’s been like a bear with a sore head recently and we know why. He asked me to work out the cost of the vandalism.’

  ‘I bet that came to a pretty penny, didn’t it?’

  ‘It did by the time I’d finished manipulating the figures – and the projections. It was under £1 million but I made it up to almost £3 million by adding in everything I could. Including a few things that definitely won’t happen.’

  ‘I should imagine he was a little upset?’

  ‘Not half as angry as he was after he received the offer Darren Cowan sent him. That nearly provoked a heart attack. Whilst he was still seething about the bid, I rang the auditors and told them Rourke wanted the latest quarterly results as soon as possible. I asked them to add in a notional cost for the vandalism of £2.75 million. What with that and the £400,000 I’d paid Brown via Valley Services, I knew the results would make bad reading.’

  ‘How did he react to them?’

  ‘At one stage I thought half the office staff would walk out. Except the SFO had arrived by then and the mayhem got worse. I thought we’d succeeded in every respect, but for some reason they stopped their investigation and left. Maybe something more urgent has come up.’

  ‘What about the next phase of the operation?’

  ‘I can’t do much until I contact Brown. I tried all last week without success. I’ll try again later this week and then let you know.’

  ‘OK, but don’t ring on Thursday evening. I have a by-election meeting that night.’

  ‘How’s that going?’

  ‘Couldn’t be better. We’re streets ahead in the polls. My agent’s ecstatic. He reckons if it’s decent weather on polling day we might even top the general election majority. The party hierarchy are making some very encouraging remarks as well. On Thursday I’ve got the deputy leader speaking on my behalf. He’s actually staying at my house overnight on Thursday. The leader in the upper house will be on the platform as well.’

  ‘That’s excellent, Julian. It seems as if everything is about to fall into place quite nicely. As soon as I contact Brown we can start implicating Rourke.’

  ‘Have you worked out how?’

  ‘I’ll give the police an anonymous tip-off that should lead to Brown’s arrest. Then I’ll point them towards Valley Services. The police will follow the money trail back from Brown via Valley Services to Broadwood Construction. With that and Brown’s confession they’ll arrest Rourke, and Broadwood will collapse. We step in. Buy Broadwood and the future’s plain sailing.’

  ‘You don’t foresee any last minute hitches?’

  ‘Relax, Julian, every detail has been taken care of and there’s nothing to connect us with any of it. Nothing, I repeat, nothing can possibly go wrong.’

  chapter twenty-four

  Their subterfuge to deceive those watching the Dickinsons’ cottage the following morning involved nothing more complicated than Marshall and Lisa hiding under a blanket in the back of the Dickinsons’ Land Rover. Seeing the keeper pull up near a pheasant release pen and take a sack of feed out, the officers lost interest and returned to their post. Once the coast was clear, Barry let them out and told Lisa, ‘Your car is parked at the other end of this ride where I moved it to last night.’

  Once again they headed for Leeds. To ensure complete success for the scheme concocted by Marshall and Rourke, they had one more visit to make.

  Linda finished loading the washing machine and glanced at the clock, 11.15. She was making coffee when the doorbell rang. A man and woman stood by the front door. Their car was parked across the drive. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Good morning. My name’s Alan and this is Lisa. It’s Linda, isn’t it?’

  Linda looked at the couple questioningly. As she was still puzzling over their identity, Marshall began to tell her the reason for their visit. As he spoke, her mouth widened. As fact followed fact, surprise turned to shock, shock to astonishment and astonishment to horrified acceptance. She invited them in. They sat and talked for hours. By the time they finished
they’d convinced her. Once she was persuaded, Linda was eager to help. Her keenness should have raised suspicions. When Marshall put forward his plan, Linda suggested a couple of modifications before they agreed the final details.

  After they left, Linda walked over to the picture window in the lounge. She stared out for a long time, at the immaculate lawn, the neatly stocked flower beds and the shrubs and numerous rose bushes that marked the border of the property. She pondered all that her visitors had told her; then turned and began to make preparations. She’d a busy couple of days ahead.

  ‘Superintendent Dundas, DI Nash here. Sorry I couldn’t get back to you before. Things have been pretty hectic here, makes things worse when we’re so short staffed. Still, I’ve got some good news for you.’

  ‘Really?’ There was a wealth of sarcasm in the single word. ‘That’s not what I’ve been hearing. I understood one of your officers has been suspended for consorting with Marshall. More than just consorting by all accounts. Do members of your force often sleep with convicted murderers who are on the run?’

  ‘Ah, you mean DC Andrews. Actually, that’s part of the reason I rang you. Yes, the girl’s been stupid, criminally so, as it turns out. But we’ve been able to turn it to our advantage. We’ve been leading her to think we believe the story she and Marshall have cooked up between them. That way, she now thinks he’s about to be cleared of all charges. Utter nonsense of course, but she’s swallowed it, and more important, so has Marshall. I’ve actually had a phone call from him. I’m not sure where they’ve been hiding but I managed to convince him it was safe to come out. I’m supposed to meet him sometime tomorrow night. He’s going to phone me with the details. When we do so, I think it would be a good idea if you and some of your officers were present when I make the arrest. It’ll likely be on your turf. What do you think?’

  ‘That sounds perfect. Well done, Nash, a splendid piece of police work. So good I reckon it would be an ideal opportunity to have the press and media there. It’d make a pleasant change for them to see us succeed in such a high profile case.’

  ‘Great idea. Of course, we can’t tell them much until I know the venue.’

  ‘Leave it to me. I’ll clue them in to begin with. Then I’ll have my men ready to tip them off as to the time and the place when you give me the word.’

  Nash put the phone down and looked across the room at Ruth and Clara. ‘Hook, line and sinker,’ he told them.

  Freddie Harrison felt completely relaxed. He wandered through to his lounge after dinner and flopped down in his armchair to watch TV. He’d intended popping out to the greenhouse to check some seedlings he’d planted a couple of weeks ago. They were a new strain and he wanted to ensure their progress, but it was a cold, frosty night and they could wait another day. He really couldn’t be bothered.

  He belched slightly. A reminder of the curry he’d just eaten; hot and spicy. Freddie burped gently again, then settled back to watch Coronation Street.

  At some stage during the programme Freddie remembered he still hadn’t contacted Brown. That would also have to wait until the following day. Freddie wouldn’t risk phoning from his own number. As always he would ring from the office.

  At the end of the programme Freddie flicked the TV remote and was transported in an instant from Manchester to Albert Square, London. He had just started to watch Eastenders when the doorbell rang. He heard voices. Obviously visitors were being greeted. A few minutes later Freddie heard the lounge door open. ‘Who was it?’ he asked without turning his head.

  ‘Hello, Freddie, you murdering bastard.’

  Harrison looked round. Shock and fear combined, the room swam before his eyes. ‘Marshall,’ he whispered.

  But it wasn’t only Marshall. Beside him was a strikingly handsome girl Freddie didn’t recognize; and behind her was another man. Harrison tried to speak but fear clogged his throat.

  ‘Cat got your tongue, Freddie?’ Marshall moved forward two paces. ‘Surprised to see me, are you? Of course you are. It means everything’s gone pear-shaped, doesn’t it?’

  Harrison’s head jerked slightly. Little more than a twitch but it was a tangible sign he understood. He stared back in shock as Marshall continued, ‘What’s going wrong with the world, Freddie? You can’t rely on tradesmen any more, can you? Sending Brown to slit my throat and frame me for murder. And here I am, large as life, and twice as ugly. Oh, but pardon me. I’m forgetting my manners, I haven’t introduced you, have I? This is Lisa Andrews.’ Marshall’s tone was light, almost conversational. Then suddenly the voice changed, took on a harsher note. ‘Lisa, this is the man who paid Brown for killing Anna, just as he paid him to kill Moran. Tell me, Freddie,’ Marshall leaned forward again as if seeking a confidence, ‘did Brown ask for extra for killing Lesley Robertson, or did you get a two for one discount?’ He turned and began pacing the room.

  ‘He told Brown to make mine look like suicide, but Brown messed up, didn’t reckon on “man’s best friend”. I bet Freddie would have been wild about that, but fortunately it wasn’t his money.

  ‘Brown’s confessed, Freddie. But first, he told me lots of interesting things. Now he’s visiting with the police and telling them lots and lots of interesting things. Things like the death of the former chairman of the planning committee and the way he pushed Gary Watson off a building. Oh yes, Freddie, we know it all.’

  Harrison was stunned at the scope of their knowledge. He wished he could act but he felt rooted to the chair.

  Marshall spoke again. Again his tone was severe, like that of a judge or an executioner. Harrison was beginning to loathe the sound of his voice.

  ‘All those killings because you hatched up a plot to rob Harry Rourke. Rob him of his contracts, his company, and finally, to rob him of his liberty as well. Such a neat scheme, but one that was bound to have teething troubles.

  ‘When Anna found out, you knew if she told me you’d finish up inside. So you had her killed and framed me. It worked so well you decided to repeat it by framing Rourke.’

  Harrison spoke for the first time, his voice a barely audible whisper. ‘You can’t prove a word of this.’ There was no denial.

  ‘Oh but I can, Freddie.’ Marshall held up the documents from Hobbs & Hirst. ‘These are copies of course. The police seized the originals this evening, shortly before they arrested Corps. We arranged that little event to take place at his election rally. I thought you might appreciate that dramatic touch.’

  On and on Marshall continued, taunting Harrison all the while. Harrison realized he should resist but couldn’t. He wanted to rise, to leave his chair. To leave this room, leave his house. To be anywhere, except here within the range of Marshall’s voice, Marshall’s rage, Marshall’s knowledge, Marshall’s judgment, and Marshall’s hatred. He thought it must be shock; he felt strangely weary. He realized denial was useless. Marshall knew everything. Marshall hadn’t come seeking information. Marshall had come seeking revenge.

  Freddie found his voice. ‘I hope you don’t expect me to confess or beg for forgiveness. Is that what you want?’

  ‘No, my original plan was to kill you. After all, I served time for a murder I didn’t commit. Perhaps I could trade that one against one I did commit. What do you think, is that fair?’ Marshall spread his arms wide like a prosecuting counsel appealing to a jury. ‘You robbed me of my wife. You framed me for her murder and you robbed me of my love for her.’ Marshall leaned forward and his cold, pitiless eyes drilled into Harrison’s. ‘You robbed me of that love when you got Moran to lie.’ Marshall’s eyes were no longer cold, they were as hot as molten lava. ‘You robbed me of that love,’ Marshall’s voice was quiet now, quiet but deadly, ‘when it was all that I had left of her. You killed Anna twice. You slaughtered her body then you besmirched her memory. Can you think of a good reason why I shouldn’t kill you, Freddie? Can anyone here think of a good reason why I shouldn’t kill Freddie?’

  For the first time Harrison knew he wasn’t going to escape. It was
all over. He knew it and was powerless to prevent it.

  Into the silence after Marshall’s final question a voice answered quietly, ‘Yes, I can. I can think of one very good reason.’

  Everyone turned towards the speaker. The woman standing in the lounge doorway held a small but extremely efficient-looking automatic pistol in her hand. ‘Would the three of you go across to that settee and sit down.’ She waved the pistol to emphasize the point as Freddie stared at her, his expression vague.

  She turned to him. ‘Do you recognize this gun? I took it out of your safe yesterday morning when I was showing them all those interesting documents and that very nasty video you have of Chris Davidson with those poor little boys.

  ‘I loved Gary,’ Linda Watson continued. ‘It wasn’t a perfect marriage but it was a good marriage. I remember the day he died; the day they came and told me he’d fallen from that building. All these years I’ve believed it. Believed it was an accident. I was hurt and upset when he died, grieving and in need of consolation. And there you were: kind, considerate Freddie. A shoulder to cry on. A helping hand for a widow alone. You timed it perfectly, didn’t you? Made your move on me when I was at my most vulnerable: lonely and in need of companionship. So I became your mistress. Not for love; affection was the best I could feel for you. It wasn’t the same as what I’d lost, but it was something.

  ‘That was until yesterday morning, when these two arrived with their incredible tale of murder and plots, of fraud, and lies, and deception. I found it hard to credit what they were telling me. Until they played the tape, and I heard the man you paid confessing. Telling how he pushed Gary from that building. You had him murdered, just so you could get me. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel, Freddie? I’ll tell you, shall I? I feel dirty; cheap and dirty. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel clean again. When I found out, every warm feeling I had for you was washed away in an instant. And what replaced it? I’ll tell you, hatred. You should never underestimate the power of a woman’s love, Freddie, or her capacity to hate. But then it’s a little late for you.’