by Conrad Jones
“No, Sir.”
“Go and get yourself a coffee,” Alec ordered. The fat constable looked Tank up and down. Tank eyed him coldly and he left without a word.
“I’m not one bit happy about this, Agent Tankersley,” the Inspector snapped as the door closed. Jack could sense the animosity between them.
“DI?” Tank asked. “Sorry, I missed your name.”
“Ramsay, Alec Ramsay.” Alec replied calmly although the question annoyed him.
“I’ve heard your name, Inspector,” Tank spoke quickly. He had no time to waste with etiquette. “I need to speak to him. Where are the Kelly twins?” Tank ignored the detective and walked to the bed.
“I don’t know,” Jack shook his head.
“Where were they the last time you saw them?” Tank leaned against the bed and Jack realised that this giant of a man was no police officer. He did not know how he knew, but he did, and that worried him.
“They were being carried out of my caravan by Alfie Lesner and his thug of a friend.”
“Who was his friend?”
“I don’t know him.”
“Where did they take them?”
“I really don’t know, officer. What’s your name?” Jack fished for the big man’s rank.
“You took the twins from the Lakes, Howarth,” Tank told him. It was not a question.
“No I didn’t, Alfie must have taken them. The first time that I saw them was when he brought them to my caravan.”
“You’re a liar; we know that you were in the woods.” Tank’s eyes were still and piercing like a shark’s. Jack’s expression flickered, and Tank knew that he was about to lie again.
“I’ve never been to the Lakes,” Jack coughed again. “Am I under caution?” He looked at the detective.
Alec blushed and shook his head. “Not at the moment,” he said. He glanced at Tank, wondering how he knew that Howarth was in the woods. Something was amiss. “You will be arrested as soon as we know you are well enough to know what is going on.”
“Then I don’t want to say anything else until I’ve spoken to a solicitor.”
“Leave us,” Tank looked at the Inspector.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. He’s my prisoner,” Alec replied curtly. “You can have your five minutes with him but I am staying here. It covers you and it covers me and I want to know that whatever he tells you makes it way to my investigation, okay?”
“The questions I need answering are related to an ongoing task force case. If you can’t give me five minutes, I’ll have him removed from the hospital immediately.” Tank stepped towards the door.
“I am giving you five minutes, Agent Tankersley, but I’m staying here and I mean it.” He put his hand on the bed rail. “Make no mistake that if this arsehole knows anything, then I want to hear it too.”
Tank waited until he’d made up his mind before turning back to the child taker. Jack had never seen any senior-ranking police officer surrender the questioning of a prisoner as easily as the Inspector had, and he knew that this big man was incredibly dangerous.
“I want a solicitor,” he croaked, trying to gain the initiative.
Tank approached the end of the bed and grabbed the patient’s right foot. He raised it high into the air and then slammed it back down on the bed. Jack felt flashes of pain in every nerve in his body, and he opened his mouth to scream. Tank moved like lightening and pressed his huge hand over Jack’s mouth.
“Fucking hell!” Alec said shocked. He wasn’t averse to tough interrogation but that was a little heavy handed, he thought.
“If you insist on staying in here then shut up.” Tank didn’t look at Alec. “I’ve got your DNA in the woods, and your caravan has a nursery in it. Now if you know what’s good for you then you’ll tell me where Lesner took the children.” Tank spoke quietly and looked into the child taker’s eyes for sign of a reaction. He could see fear. “Now I’m going to remove my hand, shout anything and I’ll have you taken from this hospital in less than half an hour. I’ll send you to an Albanian interrogation centre, which is situated in the dungeons of an eighteenth century jail in the middle of nowhere. No one will know you are there and no one will know what they will do to you, but trust me they will make you answer their questions.”
Jack’s eyes registered confusion, pain and fear. He could not understand who this man was. A police Inspector did as he was told under duress, and now the big man was threatening to make him disappear. Who had that kind of authority? “Can’t you stop this, Inspector?”
“I am not so sure that I want to just yet,” Alec replied. If Tank could squeeze information from him, so be it.
“You’d like Albania, Jack, because there’s a lot of people there descended from the Romany Gypsies.” Tank’s voice was cold and monotonous. Recognition flickered in Jack’s eyes, recognition and more confusion.
“You know gypsies, don’t you Jack?”
Jack’s eyes widened and he shook his head.
“Oh, yes you do, because you’ve been preying on their children for years, you pervert.” Tank squeezed his face hard as he kept him silent. Jack was starting to panic, short of breath and racked with pain. He was also very confused as to how this brute of a man knew as much as he did.
“The Albanian interrogators and the other inmates would love to spend some time alone with a child molester like you, Jack, especially one who preyed on their kin.” Tank let his words sink in, and then let go of his face. “I’ve known men who have been interrogated in there for years on end, Jack. You’d be begging them to kill you in the end.”
“You can’t do that,” Jack looked at Alec. “Can he?”
“Probably yes,” Alec nodded. “The good thing about it is, nobody ever admits that it goes on, so you’ll just sort of disappear and let’s be honest, who would give a shit if you did?”
“Who are you?” Jack gasped.
“I’m your worst fucking nightmare, Jack. Now where did Lesner take the children?”
“I really don’t know.” Jack closed his eyes and waited for pain, but none was forthcoming.
“Have it your way, Howarth.” Tank walked away from the bed and took out his mobile phone. He punched in a speed dial number and placed the set next to his ear. He had his back to the child taker. “This is Tankersley. I need that extraction from Warrington General Hospital. Do it now. Interrogation, Albania, labelled rendition.” Jack could not make head or tail of what he was saying but he’d heard enough to be certain that this man wasn’t messing around.
“Wait, I want a lawyer,” Jack cried.
“There’s no lawyer where you’re going, only pain,” Tank ignored him and ended his call. He stepped towards the door.
“Wait, I don’t know where he took them, honestly,” Jack’s voice was cracking up. He couldn’t go to a foreign prison where he would be identified to the general population as an abuser of gypsy children. The memories of his terrible childhood, and the pain and degradation that he’d suffered at the hands of the Catholic priest, came flooding back to him, and he couldn’t survive it again. He didn’t know how this man was able to threaten him with rendition, but he knew that it went on, and he didn’t want to be a victim of it.
“I don’t care what you have to say any more, Jack. I’ll ask Lesner himself. Enjoy Albania, Jack,” Tank opened the door. Alec was both impressed and surprised at the exchange. Part of him wanted the agent to beat the crap out of Howarth and the other was disappointed that no information was forthcoming. Looking out of the door, he saw the doctor at the end of the corridor talking to colleagues. He was also talking to Sylvia Lees, the family liaison officer. They stopped talking as he looked at them, and she pointed towards him.
“Okay, I’ll tell you,” Jack croaked.
“You’ve got sixty seconds starting from now.” Tank closed the door and turned around to face him. There was a crimson stain spreading from between Jack’s legs. Tank thought that he’d burst his stitches. Shame, he thought.
> “The children were bought by a Moroccan gangster, who calls himself Hajj,” he began.
“So you did take them?”
“No, Alfie must have taken them.”
“Your DNA was in the woods, Jack.”
“What DNA?” Alec stepped forward but Tank ignored him. “I asked you what DNA?”
“Did you find it on recording equipment?” Jack asked. “I knew they would find it eventually but I was so sure it was clean.”
Tank remained silent, and waited for him to continue. Alec decided to wait. He could quiz the agent about the mystery DNA later. For now, he wanted to hear whatever Howarth was going to say.
“Alfie stole it from my van.” Jack was trying to cover the story that he would tell the police, if he got the chance to.
“Where did he take the children, Jack, last chance?”
“Alfie took them, and he sold them to Hajj,” Jack lied.
“What’s the Moroccan’s real name?”
“Hajj Achmed,” Jack replied. Tank typed the name into his phone and sent it to Grace as he spoke to the child taker. She would take it and run it through their files while he continued his interrogation.
“Where are they taking them?”
“Morocco.”
“How do they transport them?”
“I really don’t know that.”
“How do you get in touch with Hajj?”
“I don’t, I’ve told you that Alfie sells them, not me.”
“So how do you know that they take them to Morocco?”
“Alfie told me.” Jack’s eyes flicked up to the left as he spoke, indicating that he was creating his answers, lying.
Tank looked at him and shook his head slowly. The bloodstain was spreading quickly between the child taker’s legs, but he seemed to be oblivious to it.
“I’m going to speak to Lesner now, and if you’ve lied to me I’ll come back and kill you.” Tank stepped to the side of his bed.
“You can’t kill me,” Jack croaked.
“I can, and I will.” Tank tipped the heavy metal bed as if it were made from cardboard. Jack flapped frantically trying to maintain his balance but gravity got the better of him and he was left dangling from the wrist off the side of the bed.
“Nurse! Help me!” Jack shouted as loud as his parched throat would allow him to. “Nurse!”
The door opened and the blonde nurse came running in. The doctor followed close behind her. The fat constable and Sylvia Lees stood in the doorway, open-mouthed at the scene. Jack was still scrabbling to gain his balance, and his feet were slipping in his blood on the tiled floor.
“What the hell is going on?” The nurse said as she tried to lift Jack back onto the bed.
“He slipped trying to reach his water.” Tank stepped past her and walked towards the door.
“Inspector, what happened?” The doctor asked, moving to help the nurse right the struggling patient.
“Like he said, he slipped.” Alec shrugged.
Tank walked out of the door into the corridor. The fat constable stood in his way. “If you don’t want to be drinking your Mars Bars through a straw for the next six weeks then you need to get out of my way.” Tank glared down at him. He swallowed hard and stepped aside.
“I need to have a word with you, Agent Tankersley,” Will Naylor growled. He’d been talking to Sylvia Lees in the corridor.
“Where are you holding Alfie Lesner?” Tank turned to face him.
“Why didn’t you say that the Kelly twins were the Major’s grandchildren?” Will asked. “And what is the DNA that you’ve found?”
Tank looked at Sylvia Lees and didn’t need to ask where that gem of information had come from.
“They recovered the evidence from the woods,” Sylvia added fuel to the fire.
“A word right now!” Alec said, pointing to the corridor. They all stepped out of the room, leaving the nurse and the young doctor to tend to the bleeding patient. She pressed the alarm button to summon help and other doctors came running down the corridor towards them. “You have no jurisdiction here if you are acting purely as a vigilante.” Alec began. “I have every sympathy with the Major, but this is not helping us to find his grandchildren.”
“Where are you holding Alfie Lesner?” Tank repeated his question.
“Are you listening to me?” Alec said angrily. “I could have you arrested right now for what you’ve done so far.”
Tank decided to cut his losses and walk away, but Alec had other ideas. He grabbed Tank by the arm and pulled him backwards. “I want you to hand over every speck of evidence that you have taken from that crime scene, and then you and the Major need to stay well out of my investigation, do you hear me?”
Tank shook his arm free and turned away without speaking. There was no time to lose arguing the toss with the inspector. He needed to get to Alfie Lesner.
Chapter Nineteen
Hajj
Hajj watched Rahid and his men hosing down the stable yard with caustic soda. Brian’s body had been stuffed into a large oil drum and set alight with five gallons of unleaded and a drum of diesel engine oil. It would burn for hours, leaving nothing but grey ashes and a black sludge. That would be disposed of in a river that ran through the farmland. It’s a simple but effective way to dispose of enemies, and they’d tried and tested it many times before. The smell sickened Hajj; it was sweet, like burning pork.
“Rahid,” Hajj shouted.
The wiry little man shouted a series of instructions to his men and then jogged over to Hajj.
“Yes, Boss.”
“Alfie has been arrested.”
“How do you know?”
“Our contact in the custody suite has just telephoned me.”
“What about Howarth?”
“He’s not sure, but he thinks that he may have been taken to hospital.” Hajj lit a cigarette and breathed the smoke in deeply.
“Do you think they’ll talk?”
“Do you?”
“They could ruin everything if they do.” Rahid did not want to go back to Morocco, but he didn’t want to go to prison either.
Hajj watched the flames flickering from the oil drum, and burning embers climbed high into the night sky.
“It would be easy enough to get Howarth out of a hospital, but how would we get Alfie out of a police station?” Hajj pondered.
“It would take an army of men to do that, Hajj.”
“You’re right, that wouldn’t be an option, but we need to stop him from talking.”
“He would be easy to hit in prison.”
“That would be too late, Rahid.”
“What else can we do?”
“If they had to move him then we could spring him from a prison van, right?” Hajj mused as he watched the flames jumping. Flesh crackled and bones splintered in the intense heat.
“Easy, but why would they move him?” Rahid followed his employer’s gaze towards the jumping flames and smiled. They both laughed and nodded in agreement. “I see, they’re going to have a fire, right?”
“Right, Rahid my friend, they’re going to have a fire,” Hajj laughed again. “We need to move quickly.”
Chapter Twenty
Warrington Police Station
Alfie Lesner sat in a prison cell eight foot long by six foot wide. He sat on a thin mattress covered in red vinyl to prolong its life. The cell stank of urine and it was cold. The walls were covered in dark green tiles, probably put there by the Victorian tradesmen that had built Warrington police station in the eighteen hundreds. In the corner was a stainless steel lavatory without a seat or toilet paper. The smell from it permeated the tiny holding cell. Alfie had been charged with grievous bodily harm, possession of a firearm and kidnap upon his arrival in the custody suite. The custody officers stripped his belt and shoelaces from him so that he couldn’t hang himself, and they bagged and tagged his belongings. That was only an hour ago, although it felt like weeks since he’d been processed. He still couldn’t fathom o
ut who had called the police. Hajj, maybe, but he could see no reason, and he wouldn’t know where Jack’s caravan was exactly. Brian was dead, so that ruled him out of the equation. Jack must have called them, but why would he turn himself in? The longer he thought about it, the more frightened he became that Jack was going to wriggle out of this by blaming him. His head was reeling with the night’s events, and he couldn’t see any way of walking away from this untarnished. The custody officers had been rough and aggressive to him. They believed that he was involved in child abduction, and treated him accordingly. Alfie had a feeling that prison would be worse still.
Alfie wasn’t an angel by any stretch of the imagination, but he was no paedophile. He’d been a promising footballer at school but a bad knee injury ruled sport out as a profession. Academically he wasn’t dim, but he was no rocket scientist either. He was close to his elderly parents, one younger brother and his two older sisters, and he loved their children dearly. The family had an inkling that he was involved with some unsavoury characters. He had no full-time job, and yet he drove a Mercedes, dressed in designer suits and always had wads of cash on him. He kept his business close to his chest, and no one pried too deep because he was a lovable rogue. If his family thought for one minute that he’d been involved in child trafficking then he would lose everything that was dear to him, and he couldn’t see any way out.
The viewing hatch clanged open and he heard keys being inserted into the lock. The heavy metal door swung open. It was odd but he marvelled at how thick these prison doors were. King Kong could not break through one of them.
“Get up,” a burly police officer grunted. He had a keychain dangling to his knees. “Your solicitor is here, I hope he’s a good one.”
Alfie stepped out of the cell into a wide corridor with a high vaulted ceiling. The walls were covered with the same green tiles as his cell, and there were at least a dozen cell doors on either side of the corridor. The smell of urine didn’t fade at all. It still cloyed in his throat.