Eventually, he watched as the old man crossed the road and headed up the path towards a block of old folks’ flats.
Tony’s pace quickened, a weird buzz was flowing through his body as he watched the sick old pervert go into the building. That was it. This was his chance to help Pop, his chance to show all of the perverts out there that their time had come.
Tony jogged the last part of the journey. His skinhead running past other windows in the block attracted some attention from the residents. He flung the door open, and ran into the building, his fists were clenched tightly. There he was. He saw the disgusting nonce trying to open his door. Tony stopped dead, gave him the chance to open the door. Then, with a loud squeak, the pervert’s door opened. Tony ran at the door, at the old man with all of his force. He banged into the back of the frail man, sending him hurtling into the hall inside the flat. Tony kicked him out of the way so that he could close the door behind them both.
“It fuckin’ stinks in here you dirty old fucker!” he shouted as he got down on one knee to see what a paedophile looks like close up. The old man was lying face down, it was obvious he was in some pain. Tony grabbed at his collar and hoisted him up. The old man was trying to speak, Tony had to listen carefully to make out what he was saying.
“There’s no money. I have no money,” he whimpered. Tony was furious at the thought - that this sick bastard thought that this was about money.
“You think that’s what I want? Eh?” His anger took over and he lashed out, punching the old man in the side of the head with all of the power he could muster. The old man just flopped out on the floor. His eyes were open and he was staring at the ceiling. Tony thought that he was unconscious, but he began trying to get up, obviously confused.
“Where do you think you’re going now, eh? Are you going to find some little kids to play with?” Tony’s eyes were bulging out of his head as he shouted the words. He punched him again, knocking him down once again.
Out on the corridor, a couple of terrified residents were shuffling cautiously up to the old man’s front door. They wondered what all the noise was about. It was scary, and it quickly became clear to them, as they rushed back inside their own flats for protection and to call for help.
Tony was trashing the old man’s flat. He was pulling down pictures, throwing furniture on its side, smashing photographs. He stopped as he saw one of the pictures that he’d just jumped on. It was the old man with a little boy and a girl who looked about ten. He picked it up and bounded back through to the hall where the old man was still lay, writhing in pain.
“So are these your special friends then, eh?” Tony held the picture out for the old man to see. He was struggling to focus without the glasses that Tony had knocked from his face.
“I don’t know who - I can’t see it,” he said. His voice had grown slightly stronger now. Tony held the photograph closer.
“That’s - that’s Robert and Deborah. Leave that alone” he said, an anger was present in his voice. He tried once more to pull himself to his feet. Tony had gone back into the living room, his attention span seemed limited.
The old man stood up and made a panicked, frenzied attempt to open the front door. Tony must have heard his brave attempts, and came storming through from the room he had been wrecking.
“What are you doing, you fucking nonce?” He grabbed the old man’s head and rammed it into the door. It made a sickening, cracking sound.
“You stupid twat. What the fuck are you trying to do? Get away? Not from me you won’t.” Tony looked like a mad man, his eyes were wide and fanatical. He released his grip and let the old man fall like a sack of potatoes onto the floor, his face was spurting with blood.
“You’ve heard of Pop have you?” he asked. The old man didn’t have a clue what was going on. Tony didn’t wait to see if he had or had not, he just kept rambling on.
“Well me and Pop are here to get rid of sick fucks like you. What do you think about that, eh? We’re fucking national heroes.” He let fly with a ferocious kick into the old man’s testicles. He screamed in agony.
Tony set back to his task of trashing the flat. He emptied the contents of the kitchen cupboards onto the floor. He found a can of WD40 under the sink as he set about emptying the various products across the floor. He stood with the can and began spraying the oil onto the nicely decorated walls. He was laughing as the wallpaper soaked up the words “nonce”, “pedo”, “Pop rules o.k.” and “pervert” in massive letters around the flat. He threw the can onto the floor when he was satisfied and returned to the kitchen.
Tony threw the kitchen drawers out of their units and let them spill all over the floor. That was when he spotted the knife. The large, wooden handled carving knife. He picked it up and stared at its shimmering blade as though its sudden appearance was an act of God.
He ran back through into the hall. He wanted to make a big ceremony of this. He wanted to savour his sudden rise to greatness. He began gibbering away to the old man who was just lay perfectly still on the floor. In his delirium, he hadn’t heard the growing sound of sirens on the estate.
He plunged the knife in and out of the old man’s body. He couldn’t stop, his arm felt like a yo-yo as it continued to go up and down, puncturing the old man’s body time and again with its frenzied stabs. Suddenly, his arm stopped. His manic eyes shot up and he stared at the wall. Tony heard sirens. They were close, possibly outside the block. He shot up and tried to open the door but the old man’s dead body was blocking it. He dragged the body out of the way and dumped it away from the door before hurling it open.
He shot out of the building like a bullet from a gun, racing across the grass and up towards the road as fast as he had ever moved, the knife clearly visible in his blood soaked hand.
He’d seen the police car, as he came out of the building. It hadn’t followed him. He was safe, he’d got away with it. More power to me and Pop he thought, as he neared the corner. The sound of sirens came back, this time louder, closer.
Tony had no idea that the Police van was turning the corner at speed when he ran straight into it. It sounded as though the van had hit a wall.
His body bounced off the bonnet and flew fifteen feet across the street and bashed into a front of a terraced house. Tony suffered devastating head wounds sustained in the initial collision, his head and body had wrecked the front of the van, its bodywork creased in like it had just come out of a tumble dryer. He was killed instantly.
The scene at the flat was beyond distressing. It was a harrowing sight, even to the seasoned officers of the Lancashire Constabulary who had been first on the scene. It just looked like mindless, evil madness.
C.I.D. were quickly handed both scenes, and the constables who had first discovered the horror, were left to stand outside the building and await their arrival.
The news had quickly turned into a rumour, and began travelling from the block in its various forms of embellishment via phones and social media. Within no time, the word was spreading like wildfire. It quickly reached the Red Rose pub, where the Lions and their Mums and Dads were toasting the team’s victory.
Eddie overheard it as he stood at the bar waiting to order another pint, at first the details didn’t add up. It had sounded like another smack-head had been caught burgling and had been run over as he tried to escape.
“What was that?” he asked of one of the gossiping locals who had just brought the news in.
“It’s that estate again. Some bloke’s broke into a flat in the old folks’ tenements down by Deepdale Close, murdered the fellah what lives there, then done a runner. The police car ran him over as he was trying to escape.” Eddie was stunned. He couldn’t explain it, but he had this overpowering feeling that it was Tony. It was Tony and that poor old man. Eddie felt a cold, frozen wave shudder from his chest right down to his bowels.
“Mike!” he barked across the pub. Mike came over, his face indicated that he sensed something was wrong.
“What’s up Ed
die?” he asked as he reached the bar. Eddie turned away from the gossip-mongers and put his arm around Mike’s shoulder, to bring him close. What he wanted to say needed to be said quietly.
“Where did you say Tony was?” His eyes fixed on Mike.
“He said he had something to do. Said he’d meet up with us here.” Mike was desperate to find out what was causing the stress.
“Why, what’s up like?”
“What did he say about that old bloke after I’d gone?”
“Nowt, really. Just said that he didn’t agree with people brushing that kind of thing under the carpet. He shut up about it once the second half kicked off.”
“Let me ask you something. Do you think that he might have followed that old chap, to teach him a lesson like?” Eddie looked drawn, his face clearly gave away the fact that he was concerned. Mike thought hard about the question before answering. When he was ready, he shrugged.
“You know what Tony can be like. He’s a bit of a knob at times. I can’t say that I would find it impossible to believe, but he definitely didn’t say anything about that. Honestly.” Eddie was satisfied with the answer.
He shouted to Adam to hurry up with the rest of his drink.
“I’m going to see what’s happened,” he said to Mike. Adam had drained his glass, and was shaking hands with all of the other players.
“Come on Adam.”
“Eddie, what the hell is going on?” asked Mike, beginning to feel panicked by Eddie’s unusual behaviour.
Eddie pointed to the couple at the bar who had filled him in. “Ask them,” he said as he left.
He began walking out of the pub, which alerted his nine year old son to follow.
“Where we going, Dad?” he asked as they got outside.
“You’re going to tell your Mum how well you played. I’ve got to go and see somebody about something.”
Adam was dropped at home to indulge his mother in the exciting news, and about fifteen minutes after leaving the pub, Eddie arrived at the estate. He had to drive around to find the scene, which didn’t take long. He pulled his car up at the roadblock. There were police cars everywhere, a few ambulances were still hanging around. It seemed weird to Eddie, like something off the telly. Then he saw a TV news crew aiming a camera at one of the flats and realised that whatever had happened here was devastatingly serious.
He followed the direction that the camera was pointed in and saw a swarm of policemen in different uniforms going about differing tasks outside the tenement block. He wanted to go over to them, but a police tape had cordoned the area off. Crowds of people had gathered all along the line, it looked like half of the estate had come for a nosey.
“What’s going on?” he asked of one of the spectators. A fat young kid with a skateboard gave him a version of events that didn’t match up with the original story.
Eddie decided to move further along the line and ask somebody else. The story he got this time made him feel faint.
“Some mad bloody skin head has stabbed poor old Eric to death in his own flat. The police what were coming out of there had tears in their eyes. The lad what’s done it is over there. He’s dead, got knocked down by that police van when he was running away.” The woman that Eddie had asked lived across the road. She’d seen a lot of what had happened after being alerted by the police cars’ sirens.
“Do you know who it was, the lad that did it I mean?”
“Nah, not seen him before. Just looks like any old chav, wearing a hoody and Adidas tracksuit bottoms.”
Eddie couldn’t escape the impending truth. The clothes that she had just described sounded exactly the same as those Tony had been wearing that morning at the match.
Eddie decided that it was time to speak to somebody. At the very back of his mind, he kept thinking that he was being silly, that Tony wouldn’t be that daft. But the front, middle and sides of his mind thought that it was all pretty conclusive. He was convinced that Tony was responsible for all of this and he had to find out one way or the other. He pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and rang directory enquiries for the number of the Red Rose.
He rang to see if Mike was still there. He was.
“Mike, it’s Eddie. Has Tony turned up yet?” Mike sounded fairly worried.
“No. He’s not and Jake’s asking questions.” Eddie rolled his eyes.
“Listen, Mike. I think he’s done it. I think he’s followed him back to his house and killed him. I don’t know what to do.” The line went quiet. After a few seconds Mike gave his response.
“Well listen, if you’re so sure that Tony’s involved, why don’t you go round to his house and see if he’s there?” Mike seemed desperate for it to have nothing to do with Tony, but even he was starting to have his doubts.
“Listen, I don’t even know if the old man that’s been murdered is the one we saw. It’s just… I asked this woman what happened and she saw it all. The lad she saw was wearing the same clothes that Tony had on this morning.” Eddie could hear the edge in his own voice.
“Right. Eddie, I’ll drop Jake and our Matt off at home and join you. Where are you?”
“I’m on the estate. Just come down here, you can’t miss it, cops are everywhere.”
“Right, stay there. I’ll be ten minutes.”
Mike pulled up to the roadblock and parked near Eddie’s car. He was scouring the large crowd for sight of Eddie. He found him as he walked along the cordon line.
“Alright Eddie - I’ve been round to Tony’s. No sign. Liz hasn’t seen him since he took Jake out this morning.”
“Mike, I know that you think I’m crazy, but honestly, I‘ve got this feeling that Tony’s done this. I can’t explain it, it’s just a feeling I’ve got.” Eddie’s eyes were pleading as Mike nodded, appreciating how Eddie might have arrived at this conclusion.
“I can see what you’re saying, Eddie. Have you spoken to any of those coppers?”
“Nah. I didn’t know what to say. They’ll just fire me off.”
“Give it a try. Here, watch yourself.” Mike lifted the cordon line and slipped under it.
“Come on,” he said to Eddie.
Eddie managed to laugh as he stepped under the tape that Mike was holding up. Mike put his fingers in his mouth and wolf whistled at the tens of police officers stood across the grass outside the block of flats.
“Excuse me,” he shouted as they walked over in the direction of the police.
“Get out of here. This area is out of bounds!” shouted one of the officers. The pair stood still in the middle of the green.
“Wait. We want to speak to you a minute,” shouted Mike. It seemed to have worked. One of the officers began walking hurriedly towards them.
“It might be possible that we can help you,” said Eddie as the policeman marched nearer.
“Oh yeah?” asked the constable, “by walking all over forensic evidence?” Mike and Eddie could tell they were dealing with an arsehole here.
“No. Of course not. Listen, we might have some valuable information regarding this murder. Can we speak to the commanding officer?” Eddie thought that Mike was doing brilliantly, but the PC just scoffed.
“Commanding officer? That’s what you get at a fire, mate.” He said.
“No, seriously. Can you let us talk to the boss of this murder?” asked Eddie.
“What do you want?” asked the policeman, clearly becoming bored of the situation already.
“We think we might know who did this,” offered Mike.
“Well go back behind the cordon line and I’ll get someone to come and see you. And next time, when you see a cordon tape, don’t just walk past it.” The officer turned and began walking back to his colleagues.
Eddie and Mike did as they were instructed and headed back behind the line.
They spent the next five minutes waiting for a copper to come and see them. It had become ten minutes, and then fifteen. Mike sighed and looked at Eddie.
“Come on, he’s not told
anyone. Let’s just fuck off.” Eddie agreed, he was feeling very stressed out and didn’t need the aggravation anymore.
“Fuck it.” He said “let’s go and have a pint.”
The next Eddie heard about the whole thing came from the TV, the murder had made the national tea-time news. He knew that it was the old man from the park as soon as he saw the photograph. The reporter said that the killer had been knocked down and killed as he fled the scene.
The next statement sent an icy chill through Eddie’s bones.
“Police officers at the scene have released a statement. It says that today’s horrific crime, where a well-loved and respected Grandfather has been savagely beaten and then stabbed to death in his own home - has been committed by a fanatical “Pop” supporter, who was drastically misguided into believing that Mr Wallace was a convicted paedophile. The statement adds that slogans had been sprayed onto Mr Wallace’s walls, supporting Pop’s campaign. The murderer, who was knocked down and killed as he fled the scene, has been named as twenty - eight year old father of two Anthony Price of Preston. The investigation has been handed to the Independent Police Complaint’s Commission.”
Chapter Seventeen
Monday 22nd May
Mike Angelo, the presenter of the BBC Radio One breakfast show was feeling animated on this fine, hot sunny Monday morning. He had been hinting to his seven million listeners for the last hour that he had something big to announce.
And that’s what he kept saying. After every record, after every news bulletin. The constant plugging and mentioning of the upcoming point of interest had the effect that was intended. “I’m telling you to text all your mates, get it on your Facebook and your Instagram, everybody in the country needs to be tuned into BBC Radio 1 this morning because something massive is going down.” Said the DJ, who was becoming extremely irritating to the listeners who just wanted to know what was so important.
One Man Crusade : DCI Miller 1: The Serial Killer Nobody Wants Caught Page 19