DIRTY

by Robert White

  Walkden had a simple answer.

  Go take it away from him.

  Trouble was the Chief was trying to fuck too many people at once. Bailey, Holmes, Wallace and Stewart;

  Stewart was a cool customer alright. He was fucked now of course. Casey, as usual, had thought of everything.

  Casey was an intelligent man. So intelligent, he could get away with murder.

  twenty eight

  The four Police Officers sped along the M62 towards Yorkshire. Andy drove whilst Marie slept but groaned occasionally, pain forcing the small sounds from her. Marshall and Morrison were checking Casey’s movements in his duty diary against actual events.

  They badly needed to contact the officer who had checked Casey’s car earlier in the night. He had gone off duty and no one at the local station seemed to know how to get hold of him.

  Marie awoke. “We far to go boys?”

  “About another half hour,” said ‘Andy.

  Marie turned to Marshall. “Found any alibi’s yet boss?”

  Marshall marveled at the woman’s tenacity. “Not a single one. Although we can’t put exact times on all the deaths, Casey was either off duty or working alone on those days. In fact, compared to the previous weeks, he’s been a very lazy chap.”

  Vinnie wasn’t convinced. “Casey’s never been lazy in his life. He’s been up to no fuckin’ good.”

  Marshall closed the diary. “All we can do is meet the local guys down at Stewart’s parents and find out what beat this guy was on that checked Casey’s car. It’s a race from there on in.”

  The race was definitely on as far as Dave Stewart was concerned. Steve Ross, on the other hand, had completely different ideas.

  Ross drummed his fingers on the top of the files. “Do you realise how much this little lot is worth Dave?”

  Dave was impatient. “I don’t really care Mr. Ross. I just want to see Mum and Dad safe and sound.”

  Ross shook his head and looked into the face of the younger man. Ross had befriended Dave but his eyes were cold and frightening. “I told you Dave, don’t hold out any hope. These guys have too much to lose to be identified. Let me deal with it. Let me do it my way and we’ll all come out a little richer too.”

  Dave was getting angry with his benefactor. “Look, you’ve been good to me Mr. Ross and I appreciate that. You helped me in ways no one else could. The only thing I could think about when I was inside was getting revenge. I wanted to see the bastards die.”

  Ross hunched his huge shoulders and showed the palms of his hands. “And you will son. Just go with me on this. We do as he says. Make the call. Follow his orders, but instead of putting our arse on the line, we nail his to the fuckin’ wall. We make copies of the files and use them to our advantage. This is your redundancy money here Dave.”

  Dave stood. He couldn’t take any more risks. He had already lost Anne. He couldn’t gamble with his parent’s lives. “No Mr. Ross. I just can’t do it.”

  Ross was getting impatient. “Look, use your loaf.” Ross handed Dave the phone. “Ask to speak to your mum then! Tell ‘em you won’t do fuck all until you speak to her. Tell ‘em they got ten minutes to produce her alive and well at the end of a phone, or you go public with the files.”

  Dave was wavering. Ross was adamant. He pushed the phone closer to Dave with is ham of a hand. “You know it makes sense Dave. If you can’t trust me, who can you trust?”

  Dave lifted the receiver. He was as nervous as a kitten. He checked the number on the paper. It was local.

  It rang four times and then was answered. The voice had a Lancashire accent. Dave didn’t recognise it. He had never spoken to Casey. “Hello David.”

  “I want to speak with my mother.”

  “In good time David.”

  “No! Now! I don’t think you understand the situation mate.”

  Casey was unmoved. “You’ve been listening to your friend Ross, haven’t you David?”

  The surety of Casey’s voice caught Dave off guard.

  “You with him now?

  He wants you to copy the files doesn’t he? Has he told you what they are worth to him yet? He‘s a villain David.”

  Casey was about to play his ace. “Don’t think he hasn’t already made his play. He‘s a greedy boy David. Too rich for our taste; that’s the reason your mum and dad had to be inconvenienced.”

  Dave was aghast. Had Ross already tried to sell the files? His mind was spinning. Ross had been in possession of the files long enough to study them. He definitely had enough resources to find out anything that he needed to know to complete a deal.

  Dave pressed on with his task. “I want to speak to my Mother now.”

  Casey’s voice, obnoxious and menacing, sent shivers down Dave’s spine.

  “This is what you will do. You will take the files from that greedy bastard Ross. Get in a fucking taxi and go to Grimethorpe. When you get in the village, find the Working Men’s Club, there is a phone box outside. You will get further instructions when you get there. If you’re not there within thirty minutes, I’ll kill your parents. Even Ross has bitten off more than he can chew this time. If you don’t bring the original files, I’ll kill your parents. If anyone follows you, or you contact the police, I’ll kill your parents. I know what you’re thinking, but the Police haven’t a clue who I am. Once I am satisfied I have the original files all this will be over. You know a copy is worth zero in Court Dave. I mean why else screw McCauley’s in the first place eh? You will have nothing on me, or my boss. I’m very well protected David. You, the law or that two-bit crook Ross has no chance. If you like living, you will forget the whole mess. Forever!”

  Dave was shouting, “I don’t believe you! I want to speak to my mother now!”

  “I don’t care if you believe me. Who can you trust David? Ross? I don’t think so. The Police? Well I think you already know the answer to that one. Wallace? He just wants to clear up his daughter’s mess.”

  Dave felt his guts churn at the slight on Anne. His voice became calm and cold.

  “I’ll be in Grimethorpe in thirty minutes. I’ll have the files you want. If my parents are harmed in any way…”

  “They’ll be fine…”

  Dave was sinister, “…in any way. I’ll kill you slowly.”

  Dave dropped the receiver into the cradle. He looked straight at Ross. “Give me the files I need Mr. Ross. You can keep the rest. I’m sure they’ll be worth something.”

  Ross looked disappointed with his young prodigy. “He turn you against me so easy son?”

  Dave had no desire to lose the argument. “I just want the files Mr. Ross.”

  The gangster leaned back in his chair. “Who would you prefer to take on Dave? Them or me?”

  Dave knew he was in the hands of a man who would not hesitate to kill to get what he wanted. If Ross decided to keep or give him copies of the files there was little or nothing he could do. He pleaded,

  “Please Mr. Ross. Let me do this. Do you really think I’m going to let this bastard go? I promise you will have the files back by the end of the day. You can keep the damn things.”

  Ross laid a huge palm on top of the papers. “Do you trust me Dave?”

  “No.”

  Ross smiled. He lifted his hand from the files and gestured Dave to take them. “When this is over Dave, I’m gonna teach you a lesson.”

  Dave felt a pang of guilt at his sudden turn on Ross. He couldn’t help himself. Who could he trust now? He collected the two files he required. “Thanks again Mr. Ross… for everything.”

  Ross waved away the gratitude. “I’ll get you a car to take you where you need to go.”

  Dave shook his head he was going to play this by the book for now. “He said to take a taxi. I don’t know who is on his side Mr. Ross. Like you said, there’s a lot of money tied up in this lot.”

  Ross opened a drawer on his desk and removed a 9mm. semi automatic handgun. The grip and slide were covered in tape. “Here Dave, take this.
It’s clean.”

  Dave took the weapon and examined it. He had never fired a handgun.

  Ross helped. “It’s a Browning. The magazine is full. Just pull back the top slide and pull the trigger.”

  Dave nodded and pushed the gun into his belt at the small of his back. The weapon felt strangely reassuring, the cold metal against his warm skin like carrying a small package of death. “Thanks again Mr. Ross.”

  The two men stood and faced each other. Ross, a hardened criminal without morals or fear; he had and would kill to get what he required. Dave Stewart on a mission to save his only surviving family had never killed. Tonight though, he may have to.

  Ross gripped Dave by the shoulders. “Make this fucker pay Davey.”

  Casey sat in the dark of the old warehouse. It was cold but he didn’t feel it. Come to think of it, he didn’t feel too much of anything lately. He surveyed his surroundings. The place was ideal. It nestled near to an abandoned stretch of railway line and a link road. In a fast car, the road would have him on the motorway in less than five minutes.

  The old carpet factory was a large dust laden void. All its machinery stripped away and sold to Far-Eastern competition. Apparently the owners thought it insufficient to discard its workforce. The sale of the people’s tools ensured a meagre profit from its demise. Grease marks and bolt-holes were all that was left of the powerful looms.

  Dave Stewart’s parents lay back to back on the floor near to Casey’s own feet. He had bound their hands and feet with electrical flex and used pillowcases for hoods. He should have killed them by now, but he wasn’t completely sure if Stewart would fall for the line about Ross.

  Now that was Casey at his best. Years of interviewing criminals had taught him to undermine anything the subject thought to be a constant.

  Stewart didn’t believe he could trust anyone now. He would do as he was told. Once he brought the original files, Casey would be home free.

  Irene and Derek were quiet now.

  Irene had struggled for a while. She had kept shouting out, being difficult. Casey had kicked her firmly in the face. She had been quiet since.

  Some blood had seeped through the white pillowcase, he presumed from her nose. So what? She wouldn’t be feeling anything soon.

  The old man, Derek, had been more of a problem than Casey thought. He put up quite a fight at the house. Casey smiled as he recalled his adventure. It had been so easy to get in. He simply knocked on the door of the old dear’s house. Derek had answered. Casey had pushed the old boy backward into the hallway and Bob’s your uncle!

  OK, he’d had to rough them up a little, but hey, this was a big boy’s game now.

  Casey looked at the couple again. Derek was breathing heavily under his hood. He would be heavy to lift to the car but it was the only way.

  Casey would finish the job. He always did. He picked up Derek by the feet and started to drag his bulky frame toward the door of the warehouse. He had only taken two steps when the elderly man kicked out viciously and connected with Casey’s gut. The force of the impact knocked him back and caused him to drop the feet of the old man.

  Derek thrashed about on the floor in a desperate attempt to free himself. It was a pointless exercise.

  Casey was bent double. The blow had knocked the wind out of him. He raised himself to his full height and a sickening sneer appeared on his face. He stood over the bound and hooded figure.

  “Well Mr. Stewart, want to play rough do we?”

  Vinnie Morrison and Andy Dunn stood in the warm, comfortable hallway of Dave Stewart’s parent’s home. They were in deep conversation with the two South Yorkshire uniformed officers who were protecting the scene.

  The local CID were treating the incident as a potential murder enquiry and the two Bobbies were reluctant to let Vinnie or Andy inside. The Lancashire crew had decided on the cover story that they were looking for Dave Stewart, as he had failed to honour his bail conditions. The fact that the team contained a Detective Superintendent and Detective Inspector, had, so far, gone unnoticed.

  Despite the slim cover story, with a little persuasion from Vinnie, the Yorkshire officers talked about what they thought had occurred and what information had been obtained so far.

  Marshall was chatting to a dog handler parked outside the house in his van. Man and dog had just completed a search of the gardens in the street.

  The usual pleasantries exchanged, Marshall leaned into the open window of the van. The smell of the wet dog caged in the back was eye watering. Marshall examined his notes for the name of the officer who had checked Casey’s car on the PNC.

  Marshall’s manner was as casual as his tired brain could muster. “Do you know a Constable Lincoln mate?”

  The Officer was eating a pie of some kind. Crumbs covered the front of his uniform tunic. Marshall wondered how anyone could eat surrounded by such a stench. The man spoke with a full mouth and a thick accent. “Aye, Dave Lincoln. He’s a detached beat bobby aat at Grimey. He’ll a gone ’ome na though.”

  Marshall looked puzzled, unaware of the local geography and struggling with the man’s Yorkshire twang. “Grimey?”

  “Mmm,” more crumbs, “Grimethorpe. Tha’ knows, its weer t’ band comes from.”

  Between the pie remnants and the accent, Marshall didn’t get a word. He felt a tap on his shoulder. Marie Baker attempted a smile. She looked like shit. “Need a translator boss?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Marie introduced herself and found that the dog man was far more helpful when speaking to someone, “we aat a plumb in ‘is gob”

  Several minutes later, the four Lancashire officers were gathered together and were pooling the information they had gained from their Yorkshire colleagues.

  Marshall spoke, “No closer to contacting this PC Lincoln then?

  Vinnie shook his head. “He’s not at home; he has a bird somewhere, but no one knows where she lives. We do know the area he was in when he checked Casey’s car though. It’s about 15 minutes from here.”

  Marie piped up.

  “This very nice dog handler, err… Bill has agreed to take us and assist with any searches. Grimethorpe is a small area.”

  Marshall countered. “Yes but to find one car without outside help is not going to be easy. I don’t want to inform the local control room. You know, as well as I do, what will happen when they find out we are here and I don’t want anyone back at Preston to know our whereabouts just yet. We need to keep our cover story for the local Bobbies that our job is unrelated. If it turns out that Casey has taken Stewart's parents, we get him first, we take him home.”

  Marshall gestured with his thumb toward the house. “They can have him, when I’m finished with him.”

  Dave Stewart was having trouble with the Taxi. The old car rattled and banged along the small streets of Grimethorpe. The Pakistani driver was new to his trade and didn’t know where the hell he was going. Dave was getting more and more irritated. The meter rolled on, but more importantly, another clock was ticking.

  Dave checked his watch. There was less than three minutes left of his allotted half-hour. He wiped the condensation from the window of the cab and peered into the darkness.

  Then he saw the sign for the club. “Stop! Here, yes here.” Dave fumbled for the fare.

  “Does tha want me t’ wait?” Asked the driver in a very strong Yorkshire accent.

  “No pal, you can go.”

  Dave thrust the fare and a hearty tip into the driver’s hand and opened the car door.

  He finally stood outside the phone booth. The wind had picked up and it had started to piss down. Dave turned his collar up against the cold and wet.

  “Fuckin’ brilliant.”

  Inside the phone booth smelled like a public toilet. Graffiti covered the walls. Dave didn’t give a shit as long as the phone was working. That was his only panic now. He lifted the receiver and heard the telltale purr of a working unit. He rested it back in place and waited.

  C
asey opened the boot of the Vauxhall car. He had stolen it a couple of hours ago for one solitary purpose. It would probably remain unreported for some time. When it was, the local cops would find it, eventually.

  They would also find Mr. and Mrs. Stewart in the boot. Unfortunately, by then it would be too late. The old pair were in a shit state now anyway. It wasn’t his fault. The old boy got rough first.

  Casey had lost it. He’d done the old man some serious damage. He’d known much younger men who couldn’t take a kicking like that. The old man was moaning quietly when Casey put him in the boot.

  Casey noticed he’d got blood on his clothes and made a mental note to dispose of them carefully before he met with Dave Stewart.

  He lifted Irene Stewart into the boot and she fell limp on top of her husband. Casey slammed the boot shut. In a couple of hours they would die from suffocation.

  Casey walked back into the deserted warehouse and had one last check around. This was not the time to make a mistake and leave something behind. He stripped his coveralls and rubber gloves, bagged them and stored them in the Police Rover. He could dispose of them later.

  Right now it was time to ring Dave Stewart.

  Marshall and his team were crawling the streets in search of the CID Escort car. The Yorkshire dog handler tagged on behind; the miniature convoy slowly combing the area in the pouring rain.

  Marshall checked his watch. It was 5 am. He was dog- tired. He looked at the rest of the crew. Andy and Vinnie looked fresh. Marie looked bad and Marshall was starting to feel rather silly for allowing her to come along.

  Vinnie was hanging out of the car window. His red hair was drenched. A powerful torch in hand, hoping against all odds to find the car they badly needed for a break in the job.

  “We’re running out of time guys,” said Marshall, checking a street map and crossing off the ones already searched. “We’ve only covered about a tenth of the area. At this rate it will be daylight and the cat will be out of the bag.”