Jack-Knifed

by Wonny Lea

If they had expected to encounter a murderer in self-destruct mode they could not have been more wrong, as they were met by a man more bent on killing someone else than himself.

  Normally the man they were facing would have been just about a match for Martin alone, and under different circumstances Martin and Matt together would have taken him on easily. These were not normal circumstances and there were three very good reasons why a two-detective-tackle was not the chosen option.

  Over the years, Martin had dealt with every class of criminal in the book, ranging from rapists and arsonists to murderers and child molesters, and every other type between. However, he could never remember having been in such a vulnerable position as he was now, looking at a murderer with such a mixture of emotions in his eyes.

  There was the hate and anger Martin had come to expect, but there was also something else that at first he didn’t recognise. Then he realised it was uncertainty, and that was what scared him the most. Here was a man who could only function in line with a carefully prepared plan, one most likely planned for him. This was not a situation he would have planned for and his uncertainty would make him unpredictable. And no one with a blade in each hand should be put in that position …

  Surprised that his voice sounded so normal, Martin suggested that Jack put the knives down and not make things any worse for himself. That caused Jack some amusement, and he moved around with his back against the wall of the room, indicating that the two detectives should change places with him.

  As he passed his beloved wardrobe, he could not resist one last look at the trophies hanging there in all their macabre glory. It was his fatal mistake, and in a flash Matt had moved forward and kicked the knife out of Jack’s right hand, leaving Martin with the opportunity of tackling from the left. The move was a classic and would have been successful if Jack’s mother hadn’t followed them into the room. She was now close enough to Jack for him to grab her and press the knife he had managed to retain in his left hand to her throat.

  Martin moved a step back and as he encouraged Matt to do the same he became aware that his DS was bleeding profusely. Jack must have managed to target something vital just before Matt’s kick had disarmed him of the one knife. DCI Phelps went to take a step towards his colleague but Jack shouted. ‘Stay where you are or I kill her. And don’t for one moment think I won’t just because she’s my mother.’

  Martin hadn’t thought that for one moment – in fact he was sure that in order to get away Jack would have been prepared to kill all of them, and anyone else who stood in his way. He was seriously worried about Matt, who was now looking pale and standing in a pool of blood mainly surrounding his left leg. Where was their backup?

  Even as he thought the question Martin heard the sirens as squad cars with the usual array of flashing lights screeched to a halt outside the house. Although the sound was music to Martin’s ears, he saw that it brought more uncertainty that could result in more unpredictability from Jack.

  Martin risked it. ‘You have no chance of getting away, so why not let your mother go – she doesn’t deserve this.’

  ‘Judge now, are you?’ shouted Jack. ‘How do you know what she deserves – me and my dad have had to put up with her moaning for years and years – would be good to shut her up and don’t think I won’t do it. Tell that lot not to think of climbing those stairs.’

  Jack was referring to the uniformed officers who had entered the house and were opening doors downstairs.

  Martin called out as he had been instructed to do. ‘This is DCI Phelps speaking. We have a hostage situation up here so please stay where you are until I tell you something different. We also need a paramedic and an ambulance as my sergeant has been injured.’

  ‘I said, tell them not to come up here,’ bellowed Jack. ‘Not to give them a list of what you want – it’s what I want that’s important.’

  ‘And what do you want?’ asked Martin with his eyes partly on Jack and partly on Jack’s mother, who looked completely helpless as her son pulled her arms behind her back and kept his knife firmly at her throat.

  But Eileen wasn’t as helpless as she looked, for suddenly, and with no concern about her own safety, she lifted her knee and drove it into her son’s leg. She was not strong and the movement would have done him no damage, but it had been totally unexpected and so caused him to slightly lose balance. Slightly was enough for Martin and he shouted. ‘Get up here now!’ as he landed a fully clenched fist into Jack’s chest.

  In the bedlam that ensued, Jack was disarmed and handcuffed by the backup team and Martin turned his attention to Matt. He was now half-sitting, half-lying on the floor and still losing far too much blood as he fought off falling into unconsciousness. Martin knelt down to see if he could find the source of the bleeding but before he could do anything two paramedics appeared and within minutes Matt had a pressure bandage in place with IV fluids being infused, and was being transported to the ambulance.

  Martin looked around the room and saw with fascinated horror the extent to which the wardrobe had been purpose built to house an extensive weaponry. There were groups of gleaming blades in the main, but there was also a back section of assorted duller looking weapons and he wondered what all that was about.

  He didn’t hesitate for more than a split second because he knew exactly where his priorities lay and he made his way quickly downstairs and into the ambulance with Matt. Jack was being taken into custody, still cursing his mother with every breath, and there was a kindly PC taking care of Mrs Thompson. The local SOC team would soon be there, and in the fullness of time Martin would get them to liaise with Alex but for now it was Matt who was his biggest concern. As they were driven back to the Bristol Royal Infirmary, Martin prayed as he had not done for a very long time. Matt had to pull through – those four sisters and twelve nieces would be lost without him – and so would Martin.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  How many murders?

  ‘You’re a fraud, a total fraud!’ Martin confronted Matt who was relaxing on pillows just plumped up by one of the two nurses who had been helping him recover from the anaesthetic. ‘I’ve been sitting out there for hours worried sick while you’ve been fraternising with the nursing staff.’

  ‘Sorry, guv,’ Matt grinned. ‘I don’t get many opportunities like this, so I’m making the most of it. But seriously, I have to admit I thought I was for the wooden overcoat back there, and I was worried I’d let you down big time.’

  ‘Nothing could be further from the truth,’ interrupted Martin, and he went on to explain what had happened at the house as Matt had limited memory of the events. ‘Now, what did they say about your injury? I got some information but not the whole picture.’

  ‘Well, when I kicked the knife out of Thompson’s right hand it flew into the air and as my leg was moving back down the tip of the blade must have caught a big bleeder in my groin area.’ Matt grinned again. ‘Considering the area the knife was moving towards it could have been worse, in which case there would have been no point in me chatting up the nurses!

  ‘Anyway, there’s no permanent damage, and the blood vessel has been stitched and patched or whatever they do, and I have had six or seven pints of the red stuff so it’s just a few days off and then back to work for me.’

  Not for the first time in his life, Martin wished he was a woman, for one reason only. They were able to hug friends and family and even complete strangers with no one batting an eyelid. Martin wanted to hug Matt and embrace his sense of humour and optimism but grinned to himself as he imagined the look on his sergeant’s face if he took that step.

  Instead he just said. ‘You gave me one hell of a fright back there, and I’m so glad you pulled through, but any more talk of getting back to work in a couple of days and you’ll wish you hadn’t. I understand we’ve arranged ambulance transport to get you back to Cardiff, but that’s not until tomorrow, so I’m going to leave you with the knowledge that two of your sisters have just arrived with arms full of food and d
rink – I hope you’re not nil by mouth!’

  ‘No chance, I’ve been told that there are no gastro-intestinal complications and the anaesthetic hasn’t made me sick so whatever goodies they have will be well taken care of as I feel like I haven’t eaten for a week.’

  ‘They’re waiting impatiently for me to finish talking to you and before you ask – yes I will keep you up to speed on what’s happening with the murder in Cardiff. From the information that’s been fed to me it appears that things have got no further than when we left and there’s nothing I can contribute to at the moment so I’m off home to get some sleep.’

  Martin turned to leave and Matt made one last comment. ‘Thanks Martin, I think I knew you were with me all the time. It was a good feeling and I really did appreciate it, so just wanted to tell you that.’

  Again that ‘I wish I was a woman’ feeling came over Martin, but he just smiled and walked out, passing two anxious-looking women who would soon be giving Matt a generous helping of hugs.

  Martin drove down the M4 and tried to orientate himself with time and space. Was it really 5 a.m. on a Thursday, and was it only four clear days since Mark Wilson had been murdered? He doubted if the news of Jack Thompson’s arrest would have been in time for the early morning papers, but the radio and television news programmes would surely be running with it.

  He refrained from putting on the car radio and instead concentrated on getting himself home and into bed before the day really woke up and shattered any chance of him getting some sleep.

  Fighting an overwhelming urge to call earlier, Alex left it until almost half-past nine before ringing Martin. He almost regretted ringing then, as it was obvious from the time it took Martin to answer that he was still asleep.

  ‘Sorry to wake you, mate,’ said a far too-wide awake and enthusiastic Alex. ‘I left it as long as I could, but there have been some amazing developments and I can’t wait to share them with you.’

  ‘Steady on.’ Martin spoke in a voice that was deep and still heavy with sleep. ‘Give me a minute to wake up, and then you can share all you like.’

  ‘It’s all a bit complicated,’ replied Alex. ‘It would be better if you were here to see some of the stuff we’ve put together. Oh, and the most important thing of all is that we’ve been in contact with Bristol Royal Infirmary and Matt is making a seemingly record-breaking recovery.’

  ‘Yes, he was already doing well when I left him,’ said Martin, now in a recognisable voice and well and truly awake. ‘Look, Alex, I hadn’t really intended sleeping this long, but nature kicked in and if you hadn’t called I might have slept until tomorrow. Give me ten minutes to shower and grab a piece of toast and I’ll be on my way, so see you about ten or just after.’

  In less than ten minutes, Martin had showered, shaved, and dressed, and made himself sit down to eat some toast and honey and drink his coffee. Alex had sounded excited, and ‘Brains’ was not one to show that level of feeling without good reason. What could it be? Well, there was only one way to find out.

  At a quarter past ten, as many of the team that were available were gathered in Interview Room One waiting for Martin’s arrival. He got a round of applause as he walked in and then readily responded to all the questions of concern regarding DS Pryor. The local Bristol force had been in touch throughout the night and morning and apparently had described the actions of DCI Phelps and DS Pryor as nothing short of heroic.

  Waving all that aside, Martin quickly briefed the gathering on what had happened when Paula Williams had seen Amy Wilson at the hospital, and outlined the events at the Thompsons’ house. He then asked Alex to take centre stage and tell everyone the results of his communication with the SOC team in Bristol. Charlie got into position in front of the main computer and clicked through a number of programmes before indicating to Alex that she was ready whenever he was.

  ‘Some of you have not been involved with the Mark Wilson murder, and will be wondering why I have asked you to join this briefing, but you will understand by the end.’ Alex signalled to Charlie who projected the first of a set of images from the computer to the front screen.

  ‘DCI Phelps will recognise this place,’ he informed the meeting. ‘It’s a house in Bristol. More specifically, it’s the bedroom of Jack Thompson. For the most part, it’s like any other bedroom, but it had an extra-strong lock on the door and a wardrobe that would make the Chronicles of Narnia weep.

  ‘According to Thompson’s mother it was built by his father as a birthday present and kitted out to store his son’s collection of blades they had bought from all over the world.’ Images of the exterior and the interior of the wardrobe were then shown, and Martin was now able to have a good look at what he had briefly seen last night.

  Alex continued. ‘As you can see, the interior is divided into sections, mainly to separate the different types of blades. So, for example, he has stored all the dagger-type blades together, all the sword-type blades together, and so on. All of the blades hanging in these categories are spotless and shining, as if hours have been spent cleaning and polishing them.’

  The screen showed image after image, all proving what Alex was saying, until the camera shots carefully rested on the back wall of the wardrobe. A close-up showed hinges on the back wall and the next shot demonstrated the back wall to be a false wall, usually hiding a very different selection of blades.

  Martin went nearer the screen as the images of the newly exposed false interior showed a set of seven blades. These were not highly polished. All showed signs of being used in the most deadly way. Old bloodstains were present on all of them and even what looked like pieces of tissue and some strands of material.

  Alex took them through each weapon, explaining how four of them at least, had been used. ‘You will remember we were looking for four different weapons in connection with the murder of Mark Wilson, and I believe that the four you now see on the screen are those weapons. Professor Moore told us that Mark’s right arm had been hacked off with some kind of chopper and the top-right picture shows a hatchet with a longish cutting edge. The top left picture is of a small machete – exactly what we were looking for in connection with the amputation of Mark’s left arm.’

  The room was spellbound as Alex continued. ‘Likewise we were looking for some sort of scythe for the removal of the left leg, and there on the bottom right of the screen we have a Japanese-style double-edged curved blade. Again, it fits the bill. And, finally, we knew that some type of saw was used on the right leg, and there it is – a fine-toothed, extremely sharp saw – more like a serrated knife, really.

  ‘As well as matching the weapons, we are able to match the material from Mark’s trousers to some pieces on the saw and there is a lot of other blood and tissue that is being processed at this moment in time.

  ‘We also believe that a knife hanging in this section of the wardrobe, but somewhat distant from the murder weapons, is the one used to destroy the sofa, and we are checking that out too.’

  ‘Fantastic! Absolutely bloody fantastic!’ Martin shouted. ‘So we have all the evidence we need to secure the conviction of Jack Thompson for the murder of Mark Wilson, and to prove Amy Wilson conspired in her brother’s murder.’

  ‘Indisputable evidence,’ replied Alex with a smile.

  A second round of applause accompanied by a few spontaneous cheers circled the room, and general conversation erupted. Martin let this continue for a few minutes before banging on the table and looking at Alex said ‘Judging from the smug expression still on your face, I guess you haven’t told us everything, Mr Griffiths.’

  ‘No,’ Alex teased. ‘To paraphrase the song, I’ve saved the best till last.’

  ‘What could be better than solving a murder?’ asked PC Mullen.

  ‘Solving two murders – or possibly three murders – or maybe even five or six murders.’ Alex responded quickly and with obvious excitement.

  Knowing beyond doubt that he was holding the whole room in the palm of his hand, he enjoyed
every minute. He nodded to Charlie, who was obviously in the know too, and she projected some more images onto the screen.

  ‘We have worked all night with our counterparts from Bristol and they have been brilliant. Look at the gallery of knives on the inside wall of the wardrobe,’ he instructed the room. ‘There are seven of them, and we believe that each one has been used to commit a murder. We can account for four of them in relation to the murder of Mark Wilson, but that still leaves us with three more.

  ‘CID in Bristol has, over the past few months, been struggling with two unsolved murders and in both cases they have not discovered the murder weapon. Two of the remaining knives fit the pattern of execution in these cases, and overnight they have examined the knives and got additional forensic evidence that definitely matches two of the remaining knives to those crimes.

  ‘They are also investigating the very recent murder of a woman who was the wife of a prisoner at Bristol Prison. In the case of her murder, the killer used a long thin steel blade and would probably not have left it behind but they think it is likely that the woman’s dog attempted to defend his mistress.

  ‘There is a gap on the new weapons side of Jack’s wardrobe, and if that weapon had previously been hanging there it will be easy to prove. Apparently, some of the other prisoners are talking, and they are saying that Jack was available to his father Leo’s inmates as the ultimate disposal machine – for a price!’

  Without waiting for any reaction from his gripped audience, Alex went on to produce another rabbit from his hat.

  ‘Finally, we have the seventh knife, and without any further theatricals I will just tell you that it positively matches the one we have been looking for since the killing of Daniel Philips.’

  Martin stopped him there. ‘That’s incredible, and if it’s true, then the man we have been tracking in Cardiff for the Ely murders is Jack Thompson!’

  ‘Before you and DS Pryor went to Bristol yesterday, you set in motion the tracking of Jack Thompson from the time he left Bristol Prison. The team traced him to Bristol Airport, where he got a plane to Malaga. His return flight wasn’t back to Bristol, though; in fact he landed at Cardiff airport yesterday.’