“Sounds good. I’ll crack on then, sir.”
“Yes. You do that. And, David… when you get back you can look me in the eye and tell me that story again.”
Recalling the awkwardness of the conversation now, Hendricks smiled and shook his head. Dwyer had not been taken in by the story, but would not be overly concerned about the finer details, provided the shit shower didn’t touch him. It was Teflon time. Again.
Before calling his boss, he had already dumped the gun he had used to kill Dawson. Alongside the weapon, he had also buried the jacket and gloves he had worn at the time. They would retain the gunshot residue now, not his hands or arms. When firing the shots, Hendricks had made sure not to get close enough to Dawson for any blood or hair or tissue to have settled on his clothing. The only real problem he could think of was the likelihood of trace evidence having been transferred to his vehicle’s steering wheel. Wiping it clean had been an instinctive counter-measure, but these forensics people were good. If they checked, he could be in trouble. He was confident they would not.
Before putting away his personal mobile he replaced the SIM card with one fresh out of its cardboard wrapper, a routine he followed after every single call from certain sources. He was all too aware of just how many criminals were undone by information gleaned from phones. Those who needed to contact him knew his routine, and would simply dial the next number in the sequence he had provided.
Hendricks continued to stand on his own for a few minutes, taking in the crime scene one more time. He thought about all that had taken place since the shooting. Bad luck comes around. It was how you dealt with it that counted. It had been a tough night, but it could have gone worse. The main thing now was to track down Mike Lynch, and hope that he was not alone.
Rhino Walsh was 280 pounds of muscle that he wore like an ebony suit of armour. Six-eight, bald as a bowling ball, Walsh was a man with no discernible neck and a chest that looked like the hull of a barge. A proud Yorkshireman, his nickname derived from his love of rugby league, and the Leeds Rhinos in particular. But if you had to say what animal he most resembled, a rhino would not be too far wrong.
The man who sat alongside him was a lot smaller and a lot lighter and, unlike Rhino who pumped iron every day, Keith Breeder, who went by the inappropriate name of Haystacks, had long since allowed his muscles to atrophy. An ex-Hell’s Angel, he had not been able to ride a bike since ploughing one into a stationary articulated lorry at more than sixty miles an hour, three years ago. Five months after the accident he emerged from hospital with epilepsy and a steel plate screwed to his skull in order to keep it from falling apart. Scars still littered his face, but he didn’t look like the kind of man who spent too much time in front of a mirror.
Chris Dawson reclined in his office armchair and appraised the pair of them. He did not especially enjoy being in their company, despite the two men being his most trusted aides. There was something about Walsh’s sheer brute strength, and Breeder’s total indifference and attachment to blades, that creeped him out. Dawson was not averse to violence, and enjoyed his own reputation for brutality when it was called for. Yet even he had a healthy fear of both Rhino and Haystacks. Despite these misgivings, he was entirely confident that both men would do absolutely anything he asked of them.
At a fair price, of course. Even the most amenable mule likes a carrot or two.
“I want you to find this Lynch arsehole,” Dawson ordered.
The office in which they sat overlooked a glassed-in pool at the rear of his palatial Chigwell home. The night pressed against the windows, which rippled with blue light glancing off the water. Walsh had a glass of fresh orange juice sat on the marble table before him. His colleague chugged on a bottle of Coke, alternately wiping his lips and belching. Dawson sipped iced-tea with a shot of Jameson’s. He set his cup down and made slits of his eyes. “Find him and kill him.”
Earl Walsh nodded, and shifted in his chair. It was like watching a mountain slough off the inertia of a million years. He had a complicated face, punctuated by a scar on each cheek that looked more like tribal markings than the result of the gangland torture that they were. A similar scar cut a neat slice through his scrotum.
It was his partner who spoke, though. “Are we getting any help on this, boss? Any good intelligence?”
Chris Dawson nodded. “We are, Haystacks, and we will. Early tomorrow, I would hope to have more. Meanwhile, you two can get yourselves down there and start sniffing around. I want you both ready to jump when you have to.”
“Just us, or are we taking a team?”
“No, I want you two on this alone. I need this kept in-house, and I don’t trust the mouths on any of those other fuckers who work for me.”
“Can you keep the authorities at bay?” Walsh asked. He reached out and took a sip from his glass. “Stop them getting to this Lynch character first?”
“It’s possible, Rhino, but don’t bank on it. I don’t know exactly who will be in charge down there just yet, but something like this may be too big to manipulate with the usual ease. If I can buy you a ten-minute head start, you need to make it work for us. If I can’t, and they grab him up, well then we’ll need to figure out a way of taking him off their hands. I want this bastard dead. No questions.”
“Leave it to us, boss. We’ll sort it.” He turned slightly to look at his partner. “Right, Haystacks?”
The smaller man wiped his lips on his cuff, belched, put down his now empty bottle, and nodded. For him it was almost a speech.
7
There was not a lot of floor on which to pace, but I made a pretty good fist of it. I usually did my best thinking on my feet, but on this occasion my head was cluttered with loud, wailing voices, each telling me I was in the kind of trouble from which there might be no escape. Hands either spread in confusion, or rubbing my head in anguish, I walked back and forth around the bed, willing myself not to scream.
“I don’t believe this,” I muttered, head moving as if perched upon a gyroscope. “This can’t be happening. It can’t be.”
Melissa tried her level best to calm me, gently insisting I must be wrong. Her assurances had the opposite effect, irritating me more each time my gaze met hers. Her eyes kept straying across to the little girl sleeping soundly on the bed. I ignored the implied request. There was more to fret about than waking the kid.
“It was him.” Finally, I stopped pacing, and instead jabbed a finger at the TV, which had long since moved on to another feature. “That cop was the man I saw in the lay-by.”
“You’re absolutely certain of that, Mike? No doubt whatsoever?”
“I am, yes. Oddly enough, I never forget the face of anyone who takes a shot at me in the middle of the night.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Do you have to be sarcastic?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. Sarcasm, and oceans of it, is sometimes the only thing that gets me through a crisis.”
“Look, if you’re right, then obviously that changes everything.”
“You think?”
“Don’t get pissy with me! It’s not my fault. I’m as bewildered as you are.”
I shook my head at her defiance. “No. Not quite. Not at all in fact. You do have the slight advantage of knowing that you were employed by a fucking psycho-maniac. You must be used to being shit-scared.”
Her chin trembled a little, and for a moment I thought she might cry. “Actually, that’s not the case at all. Ray never let it touch his home life. And certainly, it never came anywhere near Charlie. But anyway, now you’re saying it was the cops who killed Ray. I knew he walked a thin line with other criminals, but I genuinely don’t know what this is all about.”
She was emotional. I understood why, but was not about to take a step back. “I’ll tell you what it’s about, sweetheart. It’s about us not being able to go to the police now. Neither of us. It’s about us being completely fucked, because I have no idea what to do or where we go from here.”
My words seeme
d to register. Concern replaced confusion in her eyes.
“Our faces will be all over the TV news later this morning, Melissa. And on websites and in the newspapers as soon as they can print them.”
I thought about how that would play out. We might as well buy ourselves a set of T-shirts with targets printed on the back. I rubbed my mouth and wondered why I had bothered remaining sober these past three months. Then something else occurred to me.
“Oh, shit! Fucking hell! My ex and my daughter. The police will have been touch with them by now, telling them all kinds of shit about me. That I am now wanted for murder. And abduction.”
I wrapped both hands around the top of my head, linking the fingers to form a grip. I started to feel physically sick. The thought of my ex-wife and daughter having to sit there while armed cops and probably even FBI agents snapped questions at them, painting lurid pictures of me gunning down a man on the side of the road, and snatching a young woman and child in the dead of night, filled my heart with dread.
“Could you call them?” Melissa suggested. “Tell them your side of things?”
“Not a good idea. By now they’ll be recording and tracing every call in or out of the house. I probably wouldn’t even get to speak to...”
“What?” she asked me. “What now?”
“My daughter’s number is in my mobile phone, which is still in my bloody car. I have no clue what the number is.”
“So, what do we do now?”
“We have to split up,” I said emphatically. “Go our separate ways.”
Melissa scowled at me for a second. Then shook her head and folded her arms. “You’re a real hero, aren’t you?”
“It’s got nothing to do with bravery, and everything to do with practicality. Think about it, Melissa. Everyone will be looking for the three of us together. Agreed?”
“I suppose.”
“So, we’ll have a better chance if we go in opposite directions.”
“And exactly where do you suggest me and Charlie go?”
“Can’t you call your boss’s brother?” I brightened suddenly. “In fact, yes, call him and make sure he knows I had nothing to do with what happened. I could do without the likes of him on my back. You could even get him to come and collect you, then you can explain it all to him.”
Melissa gave a curt, humourless laugh. “I don’t have his number; I don’t have anyone’s number.”
“Do you live in?”
She nodded.
“So call the landline. Someone’s bound to be there.”
“The only people who lived there were me, Charlie and Ray. Besides, I have the same problem as you in that the number’s in my mobile and I have no idea what it is.”
I looked up at the ceiling. It seemed closer somehow. I felt like punching a wall, and little pinpricks of light danced before my eyes.
“How long have you had the job?” I asked.
“Nine or ten months.”
“And you don’t know the phone number of the place where you live?”
“No. I told you.” Her voice was raised now, and anger flared in her eyes. “I put it in my phone when I first moved in. I’ve never needed to know it off by heart. Besides, you don’t even know your own daughter’s number, so don’t lecture me. And don’t you think that officer you say shot Ray will be tracing calls there as well?”
She was right. I didn’t think a NCA agent who was willing to murder someone would be shy about breaking other laws such as phone tapping. That made me think about other things the cop might be doing to track us down. Something was niggling at the back of my mind, but kept swimming out of reach every time I tried to focus on it. I turned back to Melissa.
“Is there no way, no way at all that you can get in touch with the kid’s family?” I shot a look at the sleeping child. The rise and fall of her chest was strangely comforting. “Think, Melissa. Think hard, because it may be our only way out of this.”
“What do you mean ‘we’? Charlie and I have done nothing wrong.”
“Neither have I, damnit!” I barely managed not to yell at her.
“What I mean is, in the eyes of the NCA and cops we have done nothing wrong. Me and Charlie. We are the innocent victims of all this as far as they are concerned.”
“True enough. So far as it goes. But think it through. That cop has no idea what you saw, either. You reckon he’s going to allow you to talk? I guarantee you, Melissa, he’ll either weave you into the fabric of his story or he’ll make sure you go the same way your boss did. He’ll have it down as you and me in it together somehow, or he’ll kill you before you get a chance to tell your side.”
I let her stew on that for a minute or two. I had been harsh on her, but necessarily so. Melissa might not want to think about such a possibility, and I could tell I had frightened her, but there was no one else around to put her straight. I didn’t like doing it, and I really wasn’t fond of myself right now. I simply felt that Melissa wasn’t fully grasping how serious our situation was.
“So how about it?” I asked again. “Is there anyone you can think of who we can turn to, to contact right now and get ourselves out of this mess?”
“No. I’ve already said.”
“How about the kid’s mother?”
“She died a few years ago.”
“How about the driver… Roger?”
She shook her head. “Look, I’m Charlie’s nanny. I take care of Charlie. I don’t have anything to do with anything or anyone else. I know some of their names, but I couldn’t even tell you where Roger lives. Nor Chris, other than in Chigwell somewhere. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is. Don’t you think I’d help if I could?”
I had known Melissa only a short while, and initially she had come across as mature and strong-willed for her age. For the first time, she now looked a little lost and dispirited, her voice resigned. For a moment, I thought about her situation rather than my own, about the years and experience I had on her. She was toughing it out as best she could. Better than me, and I had not seen my boss gunned down.
I was about to try and calm her when the niggle that had been swimming around me reared up like a shark ready to take a huge bite. “Shit!” I put my head back and tried not to hit the panic button. “We have to get out of here. And I mean right now.”
Melissa regarded me as if I were crazy. The one thing she clearly did not want to do was move.
“I paid by card,” I explained. “If they can trace phone calls, they can also check on my bank and spending. One hit will lead them right to us.”
There were no other options available. We had to get away from the motel. I wondered whether we could risk taking the car with us. Eventually I decided we had to take the gamble; I didn’t see how else we could get away so quickly.
“Do you know if the car has a GPS tracking system on board? You know, in case it’s stolen.” I knew that if such a system was on the vehicle I could never find it, let alone deactivate it. Whoever was hunting us would contact the company responsible and have its location within minutes.
Melissa raised her eyebrows. “Can you imagine Ray standing for that? Actually, I overheard him telling Roger that he’d had it removed prior to taking delivery.”
That was something at least.
“Good. Let’s go,” I said, making a snap judgement. “We’ll take the car as far as we dare and park up somewhere until morning. Maybe if we both finally get some sleep we can wake up with a clear head and think of a way out of this mess.”
Melissa was already on her feet. “They could be on their way here right now.”
“All the more reason to get the hell out of here, then. You pick the kid up, I’ll carry her to the car.”
She nodded. Our eyes met. “Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For not just snatching up the keys and leaving us here.”
I shrugged and gave half a smile. “For all I know the best thing might still be to get you and the kid to the police, tell t
hem what happened. But I’m weary and afraid and I think we both need a little time to put this together.”
She lifted the kid off the bed and laid her in my arms. “Well, thank you anyway,” she said. “We both appreciate it.”
The place was deserted, thankfully. My stomach was roiling when we stepped back outside and started walking around the side of the building, but we were doing the right thing. I swung the BMW out of the car park and headed north back on the A303. Taking the car remained a calculated risk, because at this time of morning there was still so little traffic on the road it would be easier for a police patrol to spot us. I thought it had to be better than sitting back in the motel room and waiting for law enforcement to break down the door. I intended dumping the car as soon as it was convenient, but right now I wanted to put as many miles as possible between myself and the place at which I had stupidly used my bank card.
The kid had hardly stirred during the transfer from motel room to the car. Melissa eased her into the child’s car seat, Charlie’s head nestling back into the padded rim. The night had turned to shit for all of us, but the kid remained blissfully unaware that her whole life was going to tumble upside down and inside out. Soon enough she would be told. That her father had died, that she was now an orphan. The dirty little matter of how her father had been gunned down would perhaps keep for another day. Not that I wanted to be around when that happened.
“So, what was it like working for someone like Ray Dawson?” I asked, my voice sounding loud inside the car. I glanced at Melissa in the rear-view mirror.
“I told you, he kept all of that away from Charlie. And me. I had no idea who he was when I took the job.” Her voice sounded tired and distant. Defensive.
Scream Blue Murder: an action-packed thriller Page 5