by John R McKay
‘No,’ Danny replied. ‘He got away. And that’s not all.’ He told her of the morning’s events.
When he had finished she said, ‘Well there’s the motive. But how does this Lange character fit into it all? That’s the next question. What’s any of this got to do with him?’
‘Christ knows. All I know is that he’s involved in Lucy’s death and he needs to be caught. And quickly. This whole thing is doing my bloody head in. Anyway, there’s a detective here who wants to speak to you.’
He handed the phone to Detective Inspector Wilson and then lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. He put his hands over his face, ignoring all the activity going on around him. He just wanted to sleep. To sleep for a week. Maybe when he woke up all this would be over, or he would wake to find it had been one huge bad dream and none of it had really happened. He could hear the voices of the police as they went about their work and the sound of the detective talking to Julie Green, but he could not distinguish any words. He didn’t want to hear any of it. He didn’t want to be involved in it anymore. He was aware of the paramedics still waiting for him to go to the hospital but he had no intention of going with them. He would be fine if he was left alone. That’s all he wished for, to be left alone. Alone and in peace.
‘Danny.’
Danny moved his hands from his face and sat back up, taking the mobile phone that Wilson was handing back to him. He put it to his ear.
‘Hello Julie.’
‘Danny,’ she said urgently. ‘You need to get to a safe place. Go with the police down there and do what they say. They’ll look after you.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ he replied.
‘We found prints on the car Danny, the Focus. It led us to a Kieran Pearson in Failsworth. Do you know him?’
‘No. Was he the one who killed Lucy?’
‘It’s looking likely. But it’s clear now that Lange is involved.’ She paused. ‘We found Pearson’s body this morning. His head was half hacked off. He was a drug dealing scumbag with a load of prior convictions. Whoever killed him used extreme violence.’
Danny felt himself heaving once more, but managed to control himself. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he said, ‘when will it ever stop?’
Julie was silent for a moment. ‘Danny, I’m really worried about you. This Lange guy is extremely dangerous.’
‘What do you know of him?’
‘Virtually nothing. He’s supposed to be a computer parts salesman apparently, but it looks like that’s just some sort of front for what he’s really involved in. He’s more than likely killed Pearson and obviously wanted to kill you too. I’ve just been told he had a silenced Glock pistol. They’re not easy to get hold of, believe me. The fact that he is not on any police radar must mean he’s either new to this way of life or he’s extremely good.’
‘He can’t be that good,’ replied Danny. ‘All it took was a load of puke to scare him off and by all accounts he’s left all his contact details in a toilet downstairs. He sounds like a bit of a fuckwit to me. The little shit.’
Julie couldn’t help laughing. ‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘if he is some kind of criminal mastermind then he’s really ballsed this one up.’ She became serious again. ‘The fact remains though that he’s still at large and after you and he’s prepared to kill. You need to go with the police.’
‘I need to go somewhere quiet until he’s caught,’ replied Danny. ‘Somewhere he won’t find me. Away from London. Away from England too, maybe.’
‘It’s looking likely that the obvious motive would be you inheriting the money this morning, but I don’t know how he fits into it all. That’s something that we are going to have to find out.’
‘I’ll leave that for you to work out,’ said Danny. ‘You’re the detectives after all. I’m getting out of here and I’m doing it today. I’ve been given a package of documents that I need to go through. Maybe it contains some answers to all of this. It might be worth you speaking to Clive Brown, the solicitor dealing with the will and stuff,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘The family of the Baronet may also be worth talking too. They didn’t seem particularly happy at the will reading this morning.’
‘Oh, we’ll be sure to do that,’ replied Julie. ‘Can you pass me back to the detective with you? I need to speak to him again.’
Danny handed the phone back to Wilson and again lay back on the bed. The suitcase was still beside him, packed and ready to go, merely waiting to be picked up and carried to a taxi. He had packed his passport as he had thought that maybe he might need it as some form of identification for the will reading. He was glad he had done this now. He looked over to DI Harry Wilson who was sitting down at the desk near the window jotting down what Julie Green was saying to him in a notebook. Occasionally he would look over to Danny and nod his head but Danny did not acknowledge him. He turned his head to the door and remembered the paramedic who was standing there patiently waiting for him to accompany him to the hospital.
‘It’s OK mate,’ said Danny to him. ‘I’m fine, honestly. You can go if you want, I’ll be OK.’
‘If you’re sure Danny,’ he replied.
‘I am.’
‘OK,’ he said, picking up his first aid bag. ‘We’ll be off then. You take care.’ And with that he left the room.
DI Wilson approached Danny once more and handed him the phone. ‘We’ll need a statement from you Mister Cooke. I believe you want to get out of the country for a while. I can’t stop you from doing that but I will need you to provide me with your phone number in case we need you.’
‘It’s just until this is all over,’ replied Danny. ‘I’ll feel safer if I go away somewhere. Where he can’t find me.’
‘It’s probably a good idea. To be honest, I don’t think you’ll be away long. I can’t see it being too long before we catch him. He hasn’t exactly been helping himself.’
‘I need to contact my mother,’ said Danny. ‘She needs to go somewhere too. I can’t have him going after her to get at me.’ he suddenly realised that he had told her none of what had taken place today. ‘Jesus,’ he said suddenly. ‘I really need to speak to her.’
‘Let’s just get your statement out of the way and then we’ll look at your options.’
‘OK,’ Danny replied. ‘After it’s done can I get you to take me to St Pancras train station please.’
#
Lange had to get back into the house. He was now under no illusion that the game was pretty much up for him. He would have to take what he could and then get out of the country. He could meet up with Ivan and the guys in Holland and maybe start up again from there. He should have been over there by now anyway, but what he needed to get there was in the house and there was no doubt that the police would be all over it.
And then he thought of his mother. What about mother? Tears started to fill his eyes as he realised that he would have to abandon her. He could no longer be there for her and this ate at him. How could he have made such a complete cock up of it all? Until Danny Cooke came into his life things had been going so well for him. His business ventures had been growing and he was managing to keep one step ahead of the law. All the previous hits he had done on behalf of his anonymous boss had gone without a hitch and despite the fact that he had no idea as to who the man was and the apprehensions that came with that, it had proved quite lucrative in the end.
But then he had gotten sloppy. From the ridiculous idea of making a fast easy buck by using Pearson, to the events of the previous hour or so, it had all gone completely awry. To a massive degree. He would be linked to the hit and run in Manchester and now to the attempted murder on Danny in the Royal Garden Hotel. There was no way out of it. He would have to go on the run.
There were things in the house that he needed. He would have to wait until after it had gone dark and then make his way there. He would have to be extremely careful. The police would be watching the property, there was no doubt, but he could not survive or get anywhere with only the twenty two pounds fifty five pence that he current
ly had in his pocket.
Common sense said continuing with the pursuit of Cooke was no longer an option. The guy had done well to get away with it twice and now his thoughts and actions should be about self-preservation. He had to get out of the country and do so quickly. But the Cooke guy had pissed him off beyond belief. Dodging two hits and puking all over him. The disgusting little shit.
He sat in Starbucks, near to Trafalgar Square and sipped at his cappuccino. He would just have to kill a little time until dark and then put his plan into action. For the first time in a very long time, Lange was nervous. Not because of the threat of being caught, but because of how his mother would react when she found out about his activities, if she didn’t already know by now. He was a constant let down to her, but this was something that she would never have expected and God alone knew what she would do or say, especially when she found out that he was leaving, probably never to return or see her again.
He turned his head away from the other customers and looked out of the window to avoid them seeing him wiping the tears away, as they began to roll down his cheeks. He was not sure who was ultimately to blame for this. Himself, ‘Roger Moore’, that idiot Pearson or Danny Cooke. The more he thought about it the more he wanted Cooke dead, but he knew going after him was now a fool’s errand. However, he had now lost the professional status he had developed over the years and he needed to get it back. He was torn between looking after himself and finishing off the job that he had started.
He took out his mobile phone from his trouser pocket and hit a speed dial button. It was answered on the third ring.
‘Go ahead,’ said a familiar voice.
‘Ivan. It’s Lange.’
‘I know,’ came a familiar Eastern European accent. ‘Where the fuck are you? You were supposed to be here two days ago.’
‘I know, I know,’ replied Lange. ‘Something came up that I couldn’t avoid. I’m trying to get it sorted and I’ll be over as soon as I can.’
‘I don’t like being let down like this.’
‘I know and I apologise. But I’m not letting you down. The thing is I may be a couple of days longer yet. Can you hang on that long?’
‘I have commitments and deadlines too you know,’ replied Ivan. ‘Just get here as soon as you can. Sooner if possible. This is not like you. We have never had a problem before and I hope it’s not the start of something.’
‘No, no, don’t worry,’ replied Lange nervously. ‘Nothing to concern yourself with.’
‘OK. Just get here.’ The line went dead.
He finished his coffee and stood up. He had made a decision. He would go back to the house, collect his things and deal with the situation there. Then from that point he would wing it. Whether that led him to finish the job or to just get the hell out of Dodge, he wasn’t quite sure. But he would know what to do when the time came.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The train had left St Pancras on time. Danny sat at a window seat facing backwards and sipped at a can of coke he had bought at the train station. He had made his statement in the hotel room and after the Metropolitan Police detectives had finished speaking to Julie Green they had allowed him to leave the country as long as he agreed to keep his phone powered up and switched on at all times. They had assured him that they would do everything they could to apprehend Lange and that it should not be too long before that happened. They thought they were dealing with an amateur due to the schoolboy errors the guy had made and it would only be a matter of days, or even hours, before they would have him in custody. Like Julie, Danny was not convinced of this. He could take no chances. He had spoken to Grace after making the statement and she had agreed to go and visit her sister in Scotland straight away. He could not risk anything happening to her. She had been completely shocked and astounded on hearing the story and had promised to speak to Lucy’s family and explain what had been taking place.
The train was due to arrive at the Gare du Nord at just after a quarter to nine local time and he would then take a taxi to a small hotel he knew. He planned to spend the following day reading through the contents of the brown package, which was still safely packed in his small suitcase which he had placed in the overhead luggage rack. Anything else he needed he would put on his credit card. Whether he could afford it or not was no real issue anymore.
He took the phone from his pocket and rang Julie.
‘Hi Danny,’ she said on answering.
‘Hiya,’ he replied. ‘Just thought I’d check in with you. I’m on my way to Paris now. I’m going to try and get a room at a hotel I know near the Sorbonne University. Lucy and I stayed there a couple of times recently. I’ll ring you tomorrow with all the details. Any more news?’
‘OK,’ she replied. ‘No nothing yet. Our friends in the Met are dealing with it now to be honest, but we are liaising closely with them. Just remember to keep your phone fully charged so we can get hold of you if we need to.’
‘Will do,’ said Danny. He paused for a moment and then said, ‘And Julie. Thanks for all you are doing, and for all you’ve done. I know you’ll say it’s your job but you’ve done more than you needed to.’
‘Thanks Danny,’ she replied. ‘Now I suggest you get to that hotel and get some rest. Take care.’
Danny hung up and put the phone back into his pocket. He suddenly felt extremely exhausted. It had been quite a remarkable day. That morning he would never have thought he would be on the Eurostar to Paris the same evening after inheriting a fortune and then having someone try to kill him. A quite eventful day, for sure, which was now having an effect on his body. He just needed to get to the hotel and get into bed. He wanted to sleep and sleep for a week. He didn’t want to speak to anybody else today, no-one, and wanted to be left alone. The woman who was sitting next to him had tried to start up a conversation a few minutes earlier, but on receiving his monosyllabic answers she had given up and was now reading a book instead. He felt that he had been rude but he did not really care. If she knew what kind of day he had just had then he was sure he would have been forgiven.
Danny thought about the package in the suitcase above his head. What secrets did it contain? What link was there between his family and that of Sir Peter Holbrook? Were they really worth killing or dying for? The answers would hopefully be contained within it, but Danny could not stop thinking that the whole thing was some kind of big mistake. Maybe Sir Peter had got the whole thing wrong. Mistaken identity, or something like that. Or maybe it was some sort of elaborate joke.
Danny felt his eyes closing as the rhythm and warmth of the train started to have a soporific effect upon him. His head hit the window with a sharp knock as he slouched forward and he jolted upright sharply. The woman who was sitting next to him paused from her novel and looked at him.
‘Hard day?’ she asked.
‘You could say that,’ replied Danny. He smiled at her to show that his earlier rude behaviour was due to his tiredness.
‘I know how you feel,’ she said before turning back to her book. She too had decided that she wanted no further conversation.
Danny watched the fields and buildings fly past as the train hurtled southward towards what would be his refuge, to the sanctuary of another country where he could lose himself in the crowds. He just wanted to be there now, wanted the journey to be over. He finished the coke he held in his hand and placed the empty can on the table in front of him. He would try to get a few minutes sleep. Maybe a power nap was what he needed and would alleviate some of the tiredness he was now feeling. He closed his eyes and forced his mind to go blank.
#
Lange looked at the house from the safety of a bus shelter halfway down the road. More importantly he observed the cars that were parked along the street and tried to make out if anyone was in them, staking out the property, awaiting his return. He thought he could see two figures in a dark saloon parked away from the streetlight and so, taking no chances, he crossed the road and walked to the street to the rear of his mother
’s house. Again he looked at all the parked cars and could see none that gave him any suspicion.
Cautiously, he approached the house that backed onto Irene’s and quickly entered the back yard by means of an access passageway between the two roads. Luckily there did not appear to be any lights on in the house and so Lange presumed the occupants were out. He smiled ironically. This was his first bit of luck he had had all day.
He quickly vaulted the wall that separated the two yards and ducked down on the inside of the wall and waited. The pain in his leg from Danny Cooke’s kick was starting to subside but he still grimaced with the effort. He observed the rear of all the houses in the row and when he was satisfied that no-one had seen him he climbed the wall to his mother’s house and adopted the same position. Again he watched and waited, half expecting someone to shout over, but many of the properties from which he could be seen did not have upstairs lights on and so he felt quite safe.
He made his way to the kitchen window and looked in. Irene was in the process of making tea. Two cups stood on the worktop and she was standing motionless, watching the kettle, waiting for it to boil.
Lange tapped on the window. Irene jumped and let out a yelp, dropping the spoon she was holding onto the kitchen floor. When she realised it was him, she walked to the door and unlocked it.
‘Jesus Sean, you scared me half to death,’ she said, holding her hand to her chest. ‘What are you doing sneaking about like that?’
‘Don’t worry about it Irene,’ he replied. ‘It’s only me.’
‘Your mother’s at her wits end, Sean,’ said Irene. ‘The police were round this afternoon asking where you were. They said it was very important that you get in touch with them. Is there something the matter?’
‘Nothing to worry yourself about,’ said Lange, walking past her and to the stairs.
‘Is that you Sean?’ came his mother’s voice from the bedroom. ‘What the bloody hell have you been up to? The police were round here this afternoon looking for you. What have you done? I had to bloody well come down the stairs to answer the door. They were banging like madmen!’