It was all about speed now. The bolt croppers snapped the padlocks but in the adrenaline rush they pushed too hard on the roller-shutter door, the corrugated steel flying upwards and rattling against the top of the frame.
They froze and had listened to seconds of blissful silence before their ears were blasted by an explosion of noise.
The siren was directly above them, the piercing screech so loud it was physical.
They dashed inside, gave themselves moments to adjust to the darkness and settled on what they needed.
One pressed ‘send’ on his mobile and a pre-prepared text pinged into cyberspace.
The high-pitched whine of a Ford Transit engine at its limit came seconds later, then the smash and crash of metal against metal as the van rammed its way through the seven feet high gates, sending them clattering onto the concrete.
Alongside the open shutter the van’s front end nose-dived, tyres squealing and smoking, and the gearbox crunched into reverse. The van raced backwards into the storage unit, the driver out of the cab and flinging open the back doors before the rubber of the back wheels had stopped smoking.
‘Move it,’ he shouted, glancing at his watch as he ran back to the driver’s seat.
Four items were placed in the back, the two black-clad figures jumped in, and the van roared off, back doors swinging against their hinges before they were slammed shut.
It was less than four minutes since the fence had been cut. They raced away into the open countryside, slowing down and stopping at a pre-selected lay-by on a quiet country lane, the driver out in an instant to remove the false plates.
‘So you’ve got him identified then?’ Sue said, bent down, loading the washing machine.
Ed wiped toast crumbs from his chin and picked up a mug of lukewarm tea from the kitchen bench. ‘Yeah we have.’
Ed didn’t know which hurt the most. His head from lack of sleep or the stab wound scar on his neck.
Sue turned the dial, pressed ‘on’, and stood up to face him.
‘Motive?’
Ed shook his head.
Jesus, let me pull myself together woman.
Ever since he’d involved her in the investigation into the missing Asian girl she’d thought she was the new Clarice Starling. She had even started reading true crime books.
Water flowed into the washing machine.
‘As we’ll tell the media we’re following a number of lines of inquiry.’
Ed took his suit jacket from the back of the chair, put it on and straightened his tie.
‘Which is code for you don’t know who’s done it,’ Sue told him.
‘Just like every murder inquiry in the beginning,’ Ed headed for the door. ‘This one’s no different. I’ll see you tonight.’
‘I’ll make a chicken curry. It’ll be in the pan if you’re late.’
On the plus side, involving her in the investigation had at least given her an insight into his world and she had been slightly less aggressive towards his long hours. Slightly. It still didn’t stop her being moody and short-tempered, especially if she got Sam into her head.
He walked to the door, hoping the ‘S’ word didn’t come up.
If Sue discovered Sam had chosen the multi-coloured Paul Smith scarf she’d likely tie it around his neck and throttle him. To throw her off the scent, he would wrap it himself. It would be the usual dog’s dinner but Sue would recognize his hopeless handiwork. She might just be convinced the scarf was his idea.
Driving to HQ he turned his mind to Curtis’ video. He may have shot it but that didn’t mean he wasn’t involved. Ed thought it was a little too coincidental. Curtis just happened to be at the garage when his abuser was brought there to be executed. That said, any interview with Curtis about the abuse would have to be sensitive.
‘Morning,’ Ed said, walking into the HOLMES room. ‘Anything new?’
‘Not really,’ Bev answered, looking up from her computer. ‘Usual shit through the night. Few drunks locked up, the usual once a year Christmas party idiots. Oh and a strange one, highways depot turned over, two road signs and a couple of portable traffic lights stolen.’
‘Strange is right,’ Ed said, as he walked to the kettle.
Bev answered the desk phone a minute later, put her hand over the receiver, and called to Ed.
Ed took the phone. ‘Ed Whelan.’
‘It’s Jill Brown. Sorry to bother you but Curtis has shown up. He’s in a state. Can you pop over?’
‘Give me an hour Jill.’
He handed the receiver back to Bev.
Bev looked at him, all sarcastic smile and wide eyes. ‘So who’s Jill? Didn’t want to give me her name.’
‘Nobody you need to worry about.’
Bev opened her mouth to respond, but the door burst open and Sam stormed in.
‘Grab your coat Ed, two more bodies.’
Everybody looked up from their desks.
‘Anonymous call,’ Sam said. ‘Bev, get hold of Peter Hunt and cancel the press conference. Then get all staff back here on stand-by.’
Bev nodded.
Ed put on his long overcoat.
‘I’ll update you as soon as I know what we’ve got Bev,’ Sam told her. ‘Get onto the control room. Speak to the call taker who took the phone call. I want one of ours to take a statement off them. If there’s any problem with the control room Inspector let me know.’
‘Where to?’ said Ed, walking towards her.
‘The old abattoir.’
Dean Silvers pulled up outside Scaramangers, slammed the van door and walked across the car park.
Harry Pullman was in the cellar watching the CCTV recording.
‘Let’s have a look,’ Silvers said, wearing nothing but jeans and t-shirt despite the snow flurries.
Harry hit play.
Silvers watched Mat Skinner march across the car park, Mekins with him, then studied the images from the car park and inside the pub.
‘I’d have sent him back with that bat rammed up his arse if I’d been here,’ Silvers finally took his eyes from the screen. ‘You spoke to Billy?’
‘He came round last night when I was still out and rang this morning. Full of apologies. He reckoned Mat did it all off his own bat, pardon the pun. I’m not sure Mat would make that call without Billy’s say-so.’
‘Either way something has to be done now,’ Silvers said. ‘You put the call into the police?’
‘All done,’ Harry told him. ‘We’ll make a move but not yet.’
‘How’s John?’ Silvers asked.
‘Upstairs in the flat with Tara. Been there all night.’
Silvers smirked.
‘Will you go and restock?’ Harry asked him.
He counted out £400 from the stack of £20 pound notes Billy Skinner had left. ‘That should keep you going.’
‘Why would they smash their own stock?’
‘Simple,’ Harry told him. ‘Shows they can do what they like. We’re next if Mat gets his way.’
‘Like fuck. No point waiting for them. We’ll hit them first.’
They heard the door open and walked upstairs to the bar, the barmaid not due for another half hour.
‘A pint if you please landlord.’
‘As I live and breathe, Detective Superintendent Reynolds.’
‘Retired.’
Harry looked at his watch.
‘Bit early, even for you Ray. Not even eleven yet. How’s tricks?’
The two men shook.
‘You know, plenty of time on my hands,’ Reynolds said. ‘Just thought I’d grab a pint. None of that lager shite. Pint of hand-pull. Preferably a milk stout saying as it’s winter. That’s if you’ve got anything. You seem short on the optics.’
‘This is my nephew Dean,’ Harry told him. ‘He’s just going out to restock.’
Silvers nodded at Ray.
‘The last time I saw you, you were riding a three-wheeler.’
‘People grow up Mr. Reynolds,’ Silvers started to walk out. �
�Nice to see you.’
‘So what happened?’ Reynolds was sat on a bar stool, bent forward, and sipping at the creamy white head of his stout.
‘Mat Skinner smashed the place up, fucking idiot.’
‘Why?’
‘Cos he can. His dad’s apologised, said Mat was acting off the reservation so to speak but…’
‘Nobody moves without Billy’s say-so,’ Reynolds finished for him.
‘That’s about the size of it. Much planned for Christmas?’
Reynolds eyes lost a little focus.
‘Not really. It’s a time for family and I haven’t really got one. Wife dead, almost two years now, and no kids more’s the pity. I’ll just have a quiet day.’
Harry dried his hands on a white cloth. ‘What about your sister?’
‘Lorraine? She’s invited me to stay. Lives in York now but she’s married to an arsehole who grates on me and their young ones aren’t much better. Rather stay here and fly solo.’
‘Well we’re open for a couple of hours on the lunchtime if you fancy it.’
‘I might just do that.’
Ray Reynolds turned his head as the door opened and saw the look of shock on the new customer’s face. ‘Bloody hell John.’
John Elgin approached the bar. ‘Alright Ray.’
They shook hands.
‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?’ Ray said.
‘Tara, Ray. Ray, Tara.’
‘Do you fancy a drink love?’ Ray asked.
‘I’ve got to go,’ Tara said. ‘Arranged to meet my study group later this afternoon, but thanks anyway.’
‘Mine’s a Peroni,’ Elgin said.
Tara walked out.
‘Still like them young then?’ Ray said.
‘Man needs a bit of fun sometimes, no harm in that.’
‘No harm at all as long as your missus doesn’t find out.’
‘Anyway what you doing here?’ Elgin said.
‘Catching up with an old mate.’
‘Didn’t know you had any.’ He looked at Harry, nodded at the bar devoid of stock. ‘All sorted?’
‘I was telling Ray. Billy said it was nothing to do with him. Mat was acting off-piste.’
‘A likely story,’ Elgin said and raised the glass to his lips. ‘Cheers.’
‘Are you totally off your head?’ Billy Skinner shouted, standing behind his desk in Pussycats, hands on the leather inlay and leaning towards Mat who was stood to attention before him.
‘Were you coked up?’ Billy’s face was crimson. ‘Snorting with your faggot mate?’
The office door crashed open. Mat jumped and looked over his shoulder.
Mark and Luke each gripped a handle of a wheelchair, Stuart McFadden behind them with a pick-axe handle pointing at the ceiling.
Slumped forward in the rolling chair, held in place by a makeshift seatbelt of nylon rope tied around his chest, was Geoff Mekins. His face was pulped and caked in dried blood, his wrists bound to the arms of the chair.
‘My God,’ Mat shouted, raw emotion contorting his face as he spun around and stepped forwards.
‘Don’t you fucking move,’ Billy hissed, a sovereign-ringed finger pointing at Mat. ‘If you weren’t my son you’d be in a chair next to him but rest assured your stupidity has cost this puff his life. Thank your mother it hasn’t cost you yours.’
He nodded at McFadden who brought the pick-axe crashing down on Mekins’ right forearm. The crack echoed like a dry twig snapping beneath a heavy foot.
‘Bastard,’ Mat screamed but never moved.
Geoff Mekins groaned from the pit of his stomach, no fight left in him. If he were a dog, a caring owner would put him to sleep. Mat Skinner’s lover would die but a humane send-off wasn’t in the script of his short and painful future.
Billy spoke to Mark and Luke. ‘Keep him in the basement until it’s dark then sort out our friendly fisherman.’
Mat whispered ‘bastard,’ the word almost lost in a raking sob as tears slid down his cheeks.
Billy kept looking at his other two sons.
‘And make sure he’s conscious when you weigh him down and throw him overboard.’
He turned to face Mat. ‘You might want to start shagging birds. They’ll not talk you into the kind of stupid stunt you pulled last night. Now fuck off and don’t even think of touching lover-boy on the way out.’
Chapter Sixteen
Ed drove through the gates and nodded at the young uniform cop standing just inside them. For once they had beaten SOCO to the scene.
Edmundson’s abattoir had been closed for years, a decaying building with broken windows, rotten doors and lead stripped from the roof. What remained still stunk of animal flesh.
‘Enough to turn you veggie,’ Sam said. ‘Imagine them all coming here, slaughtered and cut up.’
‘The veggies?’
Sam sighed. ‘Lack of sleep hasn’t dulled your wit.’
Behind them they heard an engine and turned to see the white SOCO van pull onto the car park, Julie Trescothick behind the wheel.
‘May as well get suited up,’ Sam said.
White paper suits on, the three of them went into the building.
Hanging upside down from a metal girder were the bodies of two men. Blood had pooled on the concrete floor directly below their heads, their faces white, drained of any colour.
‘The video is on its way,’ Julie said.
‘That’s fine,’ Sam nodded. ‘We won’t touch anything.’
The metal girder looked out of place.
‘That’s new,’ Ed said. ‘You can tell by the welding and anyway, the scrappers would never have left it.’
Sam looked at the floor where in front of the pools of blood two leather wallets, one brown, one maroon, were neatly laid out.
‘Same again,’ Sam said. ‘The killers want us to know who these guys are. Don’t want us wasting time on ID.’
‘And this time they want us to know they’re paying for something,’ Ed said, pointing to a piece of paper stuck onto the girder between the bodies.
The child-like handwriting was reddy-brown and the message brief…
GUILTY.
‘They weren’t going to run out of ink,’ Ed said, nodding at the blood on the floor.
Sam told Julie she wanted the wallets as soon as they could be moved.
Back outside the gates she lit up.
‘This is getting weird,’ Sam said through smoke. ‘Two this time, another disused building, more evidence of planning, especially if you’re right about that girder being new.’
Ed put his hands in his pocket. ‘That should be easily sorted. Just get a welding inspector off the Expert Witness Register. They’ll be able to tell how old the welds are, and how good they are.’
‘Good shout,’ Sam nodded. ‘Get Bev on that but ID is the big thing here.’
She answered her mobile, the call from Bev.
‘That’s fine. We’re on our way back now.’
She turned to Ed. ‘Councillor Elgin just walked into Seaton nick saying his grandson wants to make a complaint of sexual assault against our two friends in there. Question is how the hell does he know anyone’s dead?’
‘I got an anonymous phone-call into my office. My secretary put it through to me.’
John Elgin was in the front office interview room with his daughter and grandson. They sat in the only three chairs.
‘Oliver told me last week what was happening,’ Elgin said. ‘That one of the men was called Julius. He couldn’t remember the name of the other one but it sounded Dutch.’
‘Dutch?’ Sam said.
‘Thank the Premier League for allowing kids to guess nationalities from names…I wanted to report it immediately but he didn’t, understandably.’
Oliver looked younger than his 13 years, undernourished even, the black-framed spectacles dominating not just his face but his whole body. He had not looked up since Sam and Ed walked into the room.
&nbs
p; ‘If Oliver is prepared to tell us what happened I’ll arrange a specialist interview in a room nicer than this,’ Sam said. ‘Oliver?’
The young boy nodded without looking up.
‘Don’t worry Oliver,’ she told him. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong or anything to be ashamed of.’
The boy nodded again.
‘Mr. Elgin, would you come with me please? Ed can you put the call in?’
Sam walked outside. The icy wind numbed her head, by her calculation a Force 4 on the Beaufort scale.
‘Mr. Elgin, who rang you?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘But why ring you? They must have known about Oliver. So who have you told?’
Elgin looked offended.
‘Chief Inspector it seems to me you are implying I had something to do with the death of those animals.’
‘Did you?’
‘Absolutely not and I resent the implication.’
Sam leaned closer to him. ‘And I resent having the piss taken out of me. Make sure you’re not doing that. For the last time I’ll ask you again, who called you?’
‘I have no idea,’ Elgin snapped. ‘Now with your permission I’d like to go and sit with my daughter and grandson.’
After he had gone, Sam considered going into the CID office but thought better of it. The briefing could wait another ten minutes. A walk in the cold would clear her head. She ambled along the High Street, sidestepping the people who stopped suddenly when something caught their eye in a shop window.
Was Elgin involved? Was the anonymous call a lie? But if he had ordered retribution why had Scott been killed? There was no suggestion Scott had ever abused Oliver. Maybe someone wanted to ingratiate themselves with the councillor, Sam considered.
Jill Brown answered the door, her voice quick and quivering. ‘I had no idea Ed.’
Her red cheeks and swollen eyes indicated Curtis had told her everything.
‘No wonder he never wanted to go,’ Jill sounded tortured. ‘I was leaving him with a monster.’
Ed’s voice was calm and full of easy authority.
‘Let’s go inside Jill. It wasn’t your fault anymore more than it was Curtis’.’
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