by Nigel Cooper
DC Dubois just looked at them, silent. The Kramers’ didn’t want to believe it, but they could see the look in DC Dubois eyes, a look that said it was over and there was nothing that could be done. But for Helen Kramer it was far from other and there was plenty that could be done.
The judge gave the police one hell of a bollocking for the long list of cockups. He phoned the SIO, DCI Neil Bailey, and told him that he had no choice but to let Stanton go because of his flawed investigation, ballsed up forensics testing and the resulting cross-contamination and that his detectives had not followed standard police procedure. He went on to give Bailey a serious ear bashing about his detectives incompetence in forgetting to caution Stanton, not once, but twice. The judge then continued his rant by slamming into DCI Bailey, who felt like he was being severally reprimanded by his old school headmaster, but all he could do was listen, and take it. During the judges rant all Bailey could think about was how he was personally going to grease the pole that would slide both DC Ruddock and DC Walcott into a large hot steaming bucket of shit.
Chapter 14
The news of Father Derek Stanton getting off on three major legal technicalities – or rather, three major police fuck ups – was met with public outrage. A protest march and demonstration had done a great job of clogging up the city centre of Cambridge as hundreds of demonstrators and angry parents carried home made signs, which expressed their total and utter discontent in three or four carefully chosen large painted words, as they chanted and screamed for Derek Stanton’s blood.
Meanwhile, the Kramers residence was a frenzy of angry words as DC Aria Dubois and DS Damon Rhodes tried their hardest to restore a little decorum; fat chance. DI Vince Carver had sent Rhodes along with Dubois to help out, knowing it would be difficult situation for a lone FLO to handle and he was damned if he was going to go along and do it himself.
‘Don’t you dare talk to me about fucking “decorum”. My boys are dead, and that murdering paedophile is free, walking around out there breathing the same air as us.’
‘Mrs Kramer, we—’
‘I haven’t finished yet, not even close,’ said Helen, cutting off DS Rhodes, who was reminiscing about life in the Met, the shitty streets of London and how dealing with all the drug-dealing-pimping-gun-carrying sub-human scum was easier to handle than this particular situation. How the hell was he supposed to explain to a mother that the man responsible for putting her twin boys through a twelve-month medieval-like hellish ordeal of violent torture, brutality and sexual abuse of the worse kind, before finally killing them in cold blood, had just had the case against him thrown out of court, and that he was free, and that there was nothing anybody could do about it? The fact that three police detectives – having failed to caution Stanton both during his arrest and during the interview – had helped pave the way for Stanton’s getting off on three technicalities didn’t help either.
‘And if I have to listen to you tell me about the legal system and technicalities one more time I won’t be held responsible for my actions. This isn’t over, believe me, this is far from over. One way or another that murdering bastard is going to spend the rest of his life in jail, or worse.’ she said.
‘What if we speak to the judge, get him to change his mind?’ said John.
‘It won’t do any good,’ said DC Dubois, ‘his decision is final, I’m sorry.’
‘Well what about our solicitor and the prosecution, there must be something they can do, there must be something that somebody can do?’ he said.
‘I’m afraid not, it’s just—’
‘Please, I’ve heard enough. I want you to leave now,’ said Helen, ushering Dubois and Rhodes out of the living room and along the hallway.
‘Mrs Kramer, my colleague and I are still going to be here for you, we’re still going to help you in any way we can,’ said DC Dubois.
‘How exactly? You’ve already made it perfectly clear that Stanton’s free and there’s not a thing anybody can do about it, and you certainly can’t bring my boys back. Can you do that? Can you bring my boys back?’ she said. Dubois and Rhodes didn’t know where to look. ‘I didn’t think so,’ were the last words they heard before the front door slammed shut.
‘You know, it’s times like this that this job really sucks,’ said Dubois, fastening her seat belt. Rhodes turned and looked at her, but didn’t say anything. ‘The system’s seriously messed up. I mean, what happened? How the hell could that have happened? How can it be? That bastard getting off like that?’ she said. Rhodes still didn’t say anything; he just started the engine and pulled out of the Kramers’ drive while Aria Dubois continued to vent her frustration at the legal system.
* * *
Helen and John Kramer spent the next month badgering their solicitor, the prosecution, the police and even the judge, all to no avail. They campaigned, appeared on television and radio, and they told their story to the press; most of the nationals printed it too. They had public support in abundance; everyone was on their side, but no matter what the Kramers did, all the campaigning and all that public support, the fact remained that Father Derek Stanton was a free man, he’d gotten away with double-murder because of several technical fuck ups and a court justice system that was designed to give a fair trail to the accused.
In the meantime, Derek Stanton was nowhere to be seen, he’d disappeared off the face of the planet, most likely keeping his head down, right down.
Chapter 15
‘Someone’s here to see you,’ said Big Mike, Stitch’s personal bodyguard and right hand man.
‘Who?’ said Stitch.
‘Says his name’s Dean.’
‘Muvva fucka. Send that skinny white boy in here.’
Mike disappeared and returned a moment later with Dean behind him, looking even skinnier, and whiter, next to Big Mike’s planet of a body.
‘You got my money white boy?’ said Stitch.
‘Erm, no,’ said Dean, his meek voice cracking around the edges.
‘No? … Mike, did I just here dis boy right? Did ’e just say ’e didn’t ’ave my money?’
‘Sure as shit sounded that way,’ said Mike.
‘You must ’ave balls this fuckin’ big white boy,’ said Stitch, gesturing with his hands open as he held an imaginary football. ‘You come to my place of residence and interrupt my leisure time and you don’t even ’ave the manners to bring your host a gift. Didn’t your momma ever teach you to ’ave the common courtesy to take a gift when you go to visit friends? I mean, we are friends aren’t we?’
‘Yeah, of course we are,’ said Dean.
‘Oh we are? Well it sure as hell don’t look like we’re friends. I mean, when my friends’ come to my house they act with respect, I ain’t feelin’ no respect here,’ he said, before turning to Mike. ‘How ’bout you, Mike, you feeling it?’
‘Ain’t feeling nothing over here.’
‘Stitch, I came—’
‘To fuck me? You came ’ere to fuck me? ’cos that’s what it looks like to me.’
‘No, no Stitch, I didn’t, I—’
‘Well I don’t see no money muvva fucka,’ he said. ‘Big Mike, do you see any money on his skinny white arse?’
‘I don’t see a god damn thing, Stitch.’
‘So, tell me, if you ain’t got my money, what the fuck you doing here, boy. And, before you answer dat, I’d chose your words very carefully if I were you because your very life could depend on what you say next.’
‘Stitch, I’m here to appeal to your good nature …’ but Dean didn’t get another word out as Stitch and Mike started to piss themselves laughing. All Dean could do was stand there and, scared shitless on the inside, but trying desperately not to show it.
‘Is ’e fuckin’ serious, Mike?’ said Stitch.
‘He sounds pretty serious to me,’ said Mike.
‘I don’t ’ave a good nature, and even if I did, what makes you think I’d extend it to you? Where da fuck you been these part few months anyway, you disap
peared off the face of the planet,’ said Stitch.
‘I’ve been looking for Snowy.’
‘You find dat muvva fucka yet?’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘Well … not yet.’
‘You been looking for him all dis time and you still can’t find ’im?’
‘Well, not exactly all this time. Thing is, I didn’t want to come back to my place.’
‘Oh? Why would dat be?’
‘Well, I was worried, Stitch.’
‘You should be worried, ’cos you got a whole load of shit to be worried about.’
‘I need a gun,’ said Dean.
‘What? Where the fuck did that come from? You need a gun?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Now why would you be wanting a gun?’
‘Maybe he wants to rob a bank so he can pay you your money back,’ said Mike.
‘Ha, is that it, white boy?’ said Stitch.
‘No, not exactly,’ he said, a stern look landed on Dean’s face.
‘So, tell me?’
‘I’ve just got to take care of something, that’s all.’
‘Well no fuckin’ shit. If you want me to supply you with a gun I gots to know what you gonna be using it for. I mean, if you planning on going out and shooting some rabbits in the country over the weekend dat’s one ting, but if you’re gonna be popping a cap in some poor muvva fucka, dat’s a different ting altogether, dat would require a different sort of gun if you know wha’ I’m sayin’’. Do you know wha’ I’m sayin’?’
‘Yeah, I know what you’re saying.’
‘So, why you need a gun, my man?’
‘To kill someone.’
‘The plot thickens, who?’
‘A priest.’
Stitch laughs momentarily, says, ‘A priest? Not just any priest I assume?’
‘No, not just any priest.’
‘Let me guess, da priest who killed your sister’s boys?’ said Stitch.
‘Yeah.’
‘So, Dean wants a gun so he can go get retribution for his sister.’
‘Something like that.’
‘Well maybe you should do that, den maybe you should kill yourself after. I mean, if it weren’t for you and your crazy kidnapping ransom idea those boys would still be alive right now. Maybe you as bad as the priest, ya know wha’ I’m sayin’?’
‘Don’t you think I know that? I’ve been living with this every day for the past three months and I can’t take it anymore.’
Stitch looked at Big Mike and gave him a slight nod. Mike left Stitch’s living room and returned a moment later holding an old Baikal IZH-79 CS pistol that had been converted into a 9mm calibre weapon, complete with silencer. The Baikal IZH-79 was originally designed to fire teargas pellets and was produced in Russia. The one Big Mike was holding was probably made lethal (converted to 9mm) in Lithuania before being smuggled into the UK at some point or another.
Stitch got up off his sofa and walked over to Mike and took the gun off him. He removed the magazine; noticing it was fully loaded with live ammunition. He slammed the magazine back into the gun's handle with the palm of his hand and then quickly stuck the end of the silencer up against Dean’s forehead.
‘What the fuck, man!’ said Dean.
‘You are still going to get me my money, aren’t you?’
‘Yeah, of course, man.’
‘Good,’ said Stitch, removing the gun from Dean’s head. ‘It would appear dat you caught me on a good day. I’m in a good mood today, everyting irie. So, I’m going to offer you a new deal, a deal I tink you gonna like,’ he said, smiling.
‘A new deal?’
‘Yeah, I’m gonna look upon your dilemma with a sense of compassion and understanding. Dat what you want right?’
‘Yeah, thanks, Stitch.’
‘You see, me no like kiddy fiddlers, this priest of yours, ’e’s a bad man, da worse kind. Der’s nottin worse dan a child killin’ peodo, ya no wha’ am sayin’?’
‘Yeah,’ said Dean.
‘So, you take this gun,’ said Stitch, grabbing Dean’s hand and slapping the illegal firearm into the palm of it, ‘and you stick that long silencer up ’is arse and den you pull the trigger until you ’ear a click. Den leave dat muvva fucka to squirm and contort in agonising pain for fifteen minutes until ’e die. You feel me?’
‘Yeah, sure. Trust me, I want that fucker to die a horrible death,’ said Dean.
‘Good, now, about the new deal I ’ave for you. Dis gun, it’s on da ’ouse. Me normally charge two grand for a gun like dat, but in dis case I’m gonna make an exception, ’cause I know it will be put to good use. But, when you finish, you be sure to make dat gun disappear … forever, you understand?’
‘Sure, course.’
‘Ok, as for the little matter of the money you owe me. I’m prepared to wipe the slate clean, but I’m gonna ’ave to ask you a favour.’
‘A favour, what kind of favour?’
‘You don’t need to concern yourself wid dat right now, my man, Mike, will be in touch’ he said. He then turned to Mike and gave him a knowing nod. Mike took a mobile phone out of his pocket and handed it to Dean. ‘Make sure you keep it switched on and charged. Mike ’ill call you when the time comes. Now, you’re safe so you can move back into your abode on ’Iston Road. Mike will need to know where to find you when ’e’s ready.’
‘Ok,’ said Dean, relieved, but slightly concerned about this ‘new deal’ that Stitch had lined up for him. But right now, Dean was hell bent on revenge, and he had been since hearing the news about Stanton getting off on some technical bullshit stuff. Dean was wrapped with remorse and was finding it increasingly difficult to live with himself, knowing damn well that it was his fault – his crazy moneymaking idea – that his own sister’s twin boys were dead and that they had suffered immensely. How would he ever explain to Helen what he’d done, could he ever tell her? In the meantime, if he could at least kill Stanton that would go some way to putting things right, not only for him, but for his sister, who Dean was confident would be wanting the sick fuck dead too.
Chapter 16
‘Helen, please, that’s enough,’ said John.
‘What?’ said Helen, taken aback.
‘I’m just saying.’
‘Saying what exactly?’ she said.
John knew the ‘look’ that was on his wife’s face right now, and he knew that he had to tread carefully, but the fact is, what John was about to say had to be said.
‘I’m saying that sooner or later you’re going to have to accept that there’s nothing we can do about this, we’ve tried everything, Helen, we’ve explored every avenue and left no stone unturned.’
‘What are you saying, John, that we just forget about this and accept it?’
‘No, I’m not saying that, we’ll never be able to forget what’s happened, but we have to try and move forward with our lives, Helen.’ Shit, there it was, he’d said it and the angry glare that his wife was giving him right now told John that an imminent, and angry, retort was about to ensue.
John had concluded that their effort to get a re-trial were never going to amount to anything. Stanton, by some freak miracle, had got off and John knew it. The fact is, he knew it within a few days of the case being thrown out by the judge, but he also knew that Helen wasn’t ready to give up just yet. He knew that his wife needed the campaigning, the constant phone calls to the solicitor, the police, the newspapers, anybody who might be able to help. At the beginning it was all about the children and getting them back, whatever the cost, but after they found out they were dead and, especially, after Stanton’s case was thrown out, she was doing it for two reasons, to get some kind of justice for our boys, but she was mainly doing it because she needed a purpose in her life, perhaps she needed some sort of closure and couldn’t move forward until she knew that Stanton had got his just deserts.
In the end, even the television and newspapers weren’t interested anymore, but Helen st
ill refused to let go, moving forward for her wasn’t an option, not yet anyway. She was like a dog with a bone, an angry dog, and there was no way that she was ever going to let go of it until she got what she wanted. John thought that she would make some sort of effort to move forward, try and re-introduce some sort of normality back into their lives, if only to function a little more rationally. But, the days turned into weeks and Helen showed no sign of letting up, John knew his wife and he knew she’d never stop. In fact, the more time that passed, the more obsessed she became with Father Derek Stanton and what he was doing in his life, on a day-to-day basis. She wondered where he went, what he had for breakfast, if he ate out, if he sat in the park and read a book. She couldn’t stand the idea of Stanton living a ‘normal’ life, like nothing ever happened.
Derek Stanton had since started coming out of his house again, now that all the media activity had slowed and the paparazzi had stopped hanging around outside his house.
‘Move forward, how can you say that? I’ll never be able to move forward, not until justice has been done, not until that man is either in jail or dead. He killed my boys!’
‘My boys, they were my boys too, Helen, don’t you think I’m suffering here?’
‘No, actually, I don’t, you don’t seem too bothered that the man who murdered our boys is out there, breathing the same air.’
‘That’s not fair, Helen. I’m suffering just as much as you and of course it bothers me that Stanton’s free, but we’ve been over this a hundred times already, there’s nothing we, or anybody else, can do about it and you’re behaviour isn’t helping us, in fact, it’s toxic and it’s ruining our lives.’
‘How dare you, my life’s already ruined, I’ll never get over this, never. You didn’t see that video, you didn’t hear their screams. That’s all I can hear in my head now, every day, every single day,’ she said, and started to break down again.