Remorseless: A British Crime Thriller (Doc Powers & D.I. Carver Investigate #1)

by Will Patching

  The thought was comforting. Her optimism would not allow her to dwell on the possibility Leech might find her first.

  No. It will all be over in a few days. And for Josh’s sake she hoped John would pull through. That’s another call she should make. The Royal Berks Hospital in Reading. Check his condition.

  She felt a tremor of guilt. Her first thoughts this morning had been for herself while John was lying in a coma. And here she was, planning to kick him while he was down. Christ, he could be dead already...

  Her optimistic nature hammered that thought away, but she would call the hospital as soon as she got in. Then shower, get Josh up and take him to school. It was end of term week and Josh wanted to see his friends.

  I must call mum. She’ll pick him up for me this afternoon.

  She had no idea how long the hearing would go on. It was scheduled for two o’clock.

  She arrived back at Doc’s home, stretched out, feeling re-invigorated. She had only dozed with Josh before she slept those few hours with Colin, but despite everything, she was on good form. She towelled herself and made the first of her three calls.

  ***

  ‘Don’t tell me I woke you up!’ Carver’s voice burnt through Doc’s skull like a welder’s torch, sizzling the grey matter inside. He was not feeling at all refreshed.

  He groaned, checked the clock. Midday!

  Carver continued soldering his neurones, chirping at him, ‘I’ve been in with the team most of the morning. Thought you’d want to know about the decoy.’

  Doc grunted, one hand absently scratching his crotch while he tried to shake the fuzz of a mild hangover. As he sat upright his stomach signalled a liquid rebellion in the offing, his head was a pinball machine, the silver balls banging and bumping, lighting up his brain, setting bells ringing.

  ‘Sorry Jack. I’ll be okay. Just a little groggy.’ He sagged back on the bed, phone to his ear, eyed the empty bottles, evidence of the cocktail of beer and wine that obliterated him for the night. At least he’d had no nightmares. ‘Go on.’ He concentrated, his memory booting up.

  ‘First the good news. Judy left me a message, so we can go ahead. All approved and being organised as we speak. Our cutest WPC should be on site by now. Judy’s mother has a key and is over there helping them get set up.’

  ‘How exactly does this work?’

  ‘A six person team including the decoy. All from the Armed Response Unit. Quality, experienced.’

  ‘Six? Is that enough?’ Doc heard Carver’s sigh as he asked.

  ‘Six, each shift of eight hours. Eighteen man days every calendar day. Plus overtime payment. If he hadn’t already shot those two uniforms, if he wasn’t a cop killer, there would be a four man team.’ Carver had sounded very pleased with himself when he’d first called, but that had gone now, chased away by Doc’s negativity.

  ‘But is it enough? We know how dangerous he is.’

  ‘They’re the best. Our very own SAS.’ Doc was sure that was an exaggeration but was not about to argue. Carver went on, ‘Two inside, four outside. We’re setting up in a British Telecom van. Our boys are disguised as workers in overalls, the baggy clothes cover their body armour. And a utility van is less obvious than a parked unmarked surveillance vehicle. Quicker for reaction too. They’ll set up so they’ll already be outside the van if he appears.’

  ‘Okay. I just hope your boys know what they’re doing.’

  ‘I’ve also checked the videos. It pisses me off to admit it. I was wrong. I thought the staged suicide theory was a flight of fancy. You know, the Judge being your friend and all.’

  It was the second time Carver had raised the question of his ability to remain professional, detached enough to do his job. At least Doc had been proved right. Talking it through with Judy, her apparent lack of insight into her own husband’s behaviour, had made him doubt his judgement regarding the suicide. After all, how well did he really know the Judge? He was relieved though at Carver’s comment.

  ‘Who was it? Shaun?’

  ‘Spot on. Appeared in the area about an hour before the body was discovered. Which explains why the Judge would have just let him in.’

  ‘Why?’ Doc’s pinball had not sparked everything yet.

  ‘There was a record of a call to the Judge’s home from Shaun Leech’s mobile. The Judge was expecting him.’

  ‘To discuss the parole. To allow him to vent his anger...’ Just like the Judge to invite a distressed victim to come to his home. Dedicated and compassionate to the end.

  ‘That’s what we think. And we found John Finch’s car at Hammersmith, Peter Leech’s prints all over it.’

  ‘You’ve been busy.’ And I should be up. He hauled himself off the bed, rubbed his scalp, yawned. ‘Anything else?’ He needed a shower.

  ‘Okay Sleeping Beauty. The bad news is... we found the cabbie.’

  ‘Dead?’

  ‘Very. I’ve spoken to the provincial mob. The lad who spotted him is bright, will go far. I’ve commended him. Saw a reflective flash from his headlights as he left Finch’s place. He noticed the roadside vegetation had been disturbed and, there it was, tucked away from the main road. He found the missing cab.’

  ‘Close to Finch’s home?’ The trail was clear now. Their surmises confirmed.

  ‘A few miles down the road. The local PC took one look at the scene and decided it was moody, an amateurish attempt to make it look like an accident. Subtlety is not Leech’s strong point, is it?’

  ‘No.’ Unlike big brother. The thought prompted him to ask, ‘Are you checking the Judge’s apartment again. I’d be very surprised if there was nothing there implicating Peter Leech.’

  ‘I was waiting to see if the videos yielded anything first. Unfortunately the cleaner’s already been in...’

  ‘Oh well. Is that it?’ Doc’s mouth tasted of raw sewage and he desperately needed to clean his teeth.

  ‘Not quite. One last bit of bad news. It just confirms what we know. There was a family photo at John Finch’s place. It’s been torn up Doc. The woman’s head and shoulders were removed...’

  ‘Leech took it. A picture of Judy.’ Feeding his obsession. Doc was wide awake now, as if an ice bucket had been tossed over him. ‘Let’s hope the decoy works.’

  ‘Yeah. You coming down the station?’

  ‘I’m on my way.’

  Immediately after Doc hung up the phone rang again. Had Carver forgotten something?

  He answered. And the ice bucket became an avalanche, a whole mountainside of freezing slush.

  He could not believe who was calling him.

  ***

  ‘Doctor Powers I presume.’ The voice set the nerves in his neck tingling, the hairs on his nape springing to attention.

  ‘Peter? Peter Leech?’ He asked, but had no doubt it was the voice from the parole hearing.

  ‘Bravo Doc.’ The familiarity jarred him. ‘Don’t mind if I call you Doc do you? I read it on the cover of your book, that’s what people call you. Oh, and it was crap, by the way... The book.’

  Doc flipped through the possibilities of why the man was calling, simultaneously considering, and then ruling out, trying to call Carver on his cell phone to trace the call. The Nokia was in his jacket pocket across the room, and he was tethered to his home phone.

  Dialogue. But what to say?

  Doc was an analyst. A profiler. He advised on interrogations, but he was no therapist. Let alone a negotiator.

  ‘Cat gotcha tongue? Bet your wondering why I’m calling you... I saw you last night.’

  Doc’s mouth finally kick-started into action. ‘Last night?’

  ‘Yeah. I decided to stick around for a bit. Checked out the police reaction to my beloved brother’s sad demise... Fancy his own son blowing his fuckin head off!’ He guffawed, self-satisfaction riddled with malice. ‘Must run in the family. Patricide!’ That laugh again, like knives clashing in his throat.

  ‘I know Shaun killed your parents Peter. I know you were innocent.’ D
oc was thinking: Get him on your side by letting him think you’re on his.

  ‘Yeah?’ The confidence evaporated. Doc’s unexpected yet genuine declaration puncturing the bravado.

  ‘We were on to him.’

  ‘Well too fuckin late for me!’ Doc jerked the phone from his ear, the words rattling his ear drum from the force, the vehemence. ‘Eighteen years too fuckin late...’ The voice petered out, leaving only an echo in Doc’s ear.

  What could he say?

  ‘Why not come in and talk to us about it. We can at least put the record straight.’

  ‘Fat load of good that’ll do me! Anyway, there was a stiff in my flat. News says they’ve already found him.’

  ‘We can talk about that too, Peter.’ It was the best Doc could do. What else did he have to offer?’

  ‘Piss off! I didn’t ring you to turn myself in. It’s only because I saw you at Shaun’s house. They must be desperate to have wheeled you out of retirement, eh Doc? How’s the lovely Suzie by the way? Facing up to the consequences of stabbin me in the back?’ He tittered like a schoolboy who had pulled off a classroom prank.

  ‘You didn’t rape her Peter. All those years ago. I know. I spoke to Dr Henley.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Curious now. ‘How is the old bastard? Still puffin weed?’

  ‘Shaun manipulated everything didn’t he?’ Could Doc convince Leech he was an understanding ear, someone to talk to? To confide in? To surrender to?

  ‘Too fuckin right he did! What about his final gift to me? Potter. I’ve just seen the news. That’s why I called... I want to put you straight. I didn’t do him, okay?’

  ‘I know that too. Shaun was in the area. You weren’t, Peter. I think he might have been trying to set you up though. Again.’

  The line was quiet for a minute, and Doc began to think he should fill the silence, but was unsure what to say. He had been using Leech’s first name a lot, trying to cement the relationship. But what now? Fortunately Leech spoke first.

  ‘You’re alright. I’m surprised... You were such a wanker at the parole hearing, trying to wind me up like that. That dyke was putty though! I read her article in the Guardian. Labels! Stupid fuckin lesbo hates ’em! Brilliant, eh?’

  So that’s how...

  ‘Let’s get together Peter. I’d like to talk more. Maybe I can help you.’

  ‘Fuck off! Just wanted to put you straight on Potter... I was gonna do him, mind. And I was thinking of tracking you down... Like you’re trying to track me. But I can’t be arsed. I feel like a new man now my brother’s got what he had coming. Anyway, I’ve got better things to do.’

  There was one thing Doc could offer. He didn’t want to, but, desperate now, he did.

  ‘Judy Finch works for me. You could talk to us both.’

  God, I hope that wasn’t the wrong thing to say.

  The silence extended this time.

  When Leech did speak he was conspiratorial, sneaky even. ‘Judy... She been asking after me? Told you she fancies me, right? I’m not surprised. Most of these posh tarts love a bit of rough!’ His insidious giggle crawled into Doc’s ear. ‘Not that I was rough until that cunt Potter put me away. Went to private school... Well, when I could be bothered!’

  Leech’s little speech sickened Doc, his stomach lurching, fragile already from the booze.

  ‘If you come in I can arrange for her to be involved in your interviews.’ The lie trickled off his tongue, while his mind screamed, No way!

  ‘Don’t you worry about my Judy. Tell her to call me on her ex’s number. It’s a mobile so you can’t track me down on it.’

  Wrong! Doc was hopeful now. That was something.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ How would Judy feel about that? Maybe they could use a negotiator to advise her on what to say...

  ‘Just do as I say. Give her my message. I know she wants to see me. Could tell as much when I asked her out. Could see she was desperate for it... Dunno why she lied about her hubby though. Little minx.’

  What did he mean? There was nothing on the tape about John Finch. Doc’s brain spun like a washing machine. What else had they discussed that was not on the tape? And why the hell hadn’t she told him Leech had asked her out?

  ‘You might want to call in on her ex. He’s a bit tied up right now!’ The brutal laughter cascaded again. ‘He’s alright too, not a bad bloke for a yuppie.’

  ‘He’s in hospital. He should pull through.’ Doc was not sure if his approach was right, but he wanted Leech to know they were not far behind him, that they were aware of everything.

  Leech was suspicious now. ‘Who found him? The gardener?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Doc’s lies were easy. The man was contemptible. Right now Doc wanted him put away. Permanently.

  ‘Divorced the gorgeous Judy quite recently he said. Love’s his kid, I think... Anyway, gotta go. Things to do. Don’t you forget to give my little Birdy the message. Or I will come after you.’ Click.

  For several seconds Doc stood, numb. His nightmare was real, flesh and blood, a mountain of vicious muscle threatening to hunt him down. The fear of this psychopath, the pure malevolence of the beast, rooted him to the spot.

  He replayed the conversation in his mind, fixing it. Then he called Carver. The DI was flabbergasted at first and then his enthusiasm kicked in as Doc recounted the call in detail.

  ‘This is great news. We’ll get his mobile number from your Judy. I’ll talk to whichever service provider is responsible for his network. We should be able to locate him, as long as he’s in an area with a signal. Should be able to triangulate to within twenty yards of him, maybe even get him on GPS!’ Carver was excited now. Then asked, ‘Judy’ll be comfortable speaking to him?’

  Comfortable? Hardly.

  ‘Jack, I think we should speak to an expert, someone who specialises in talking people into surrendering. I’m an amateur at this...’

  Carver made a sucking noise as he contemplated. ‘Yeah. Okay. Come on in Doc, I’ll see what I can do. I’ll try and set up a meeting for, say, half-one?’

  An hour. It should be enough time.

  ‘I’ll be there.’ Doc finished the call and showered.

  It was good that Leech had called him... But if John Finch had given him Judy’s address, he would surely already have her home number. Why hadn’t he called her directly?

  Or had he?

  Probably.

  And he was bound to call her home again.

  Doc decided to let Carver know, tell him to put a trace on her phone, have the decoy leave it on voicemail, but get it rigged to keep the connection open even after Leech thought he had hung up. Doc was not sure it was possible, but he hoped so. Then maybe they could locate him, and Judy would not have to talk to him at all.

  He cleaned his teeth as he showered. His conversation with Leech had douched away most of his hangover. The shower completed the job.

  ***

  What did Powers take him for – a complete idiot? Leech finished the call, muttering to himself.

  ‘Half my life spent inside and he thinks I’m going to give myself up to spend the rest of it there! Twat.’

  He put John Finch’s mobile in his pocket – he’d seen Judy’s home number listed there, had tried several times, but got no answer. Just a bloody machine. He left no message. Where was the fun in that?

  No, he would visit her this afternoon. She would probably be picking her kid up from school around three o’clock so he’d pop round soon after.

  He had some time to kill so made himself some food. He had spoken to his captive late last night, and confirmed the man was expecting no visitors today. Shaun’s neighbour was still bound and gagged in his downstairs loo, so Leech had the place to himself.

  The police were doing their house to house calls to see if anyone had seen anything suspicious, but he ignored their knocking. They just moved on. Bloody idiots. Mind you, it was raining so the coppers weren’t exactly full of enthusiasm for the task.

  Leech wa
s bored. He had seen the news and laughed when he heard Potter was dead, especially as the police were now treating the death as suspicious.

  He thought back to that one time Shaun had visited him, gloating about getting away with rape first, and then murder. Shaun had told him that if Peter ever got out he would kill him. And if he couldn’t do that he would kill Potter instead, and frame him for the murder. Shaun had said, ‘One way or another you’re going away for the rest of your life, so get used to it.’

  Well, he was wrong wasn’t he? Leech belched, took another swig of beer and tucked into a microwave ready meal that was definitely superior to anything he had eaten inside.

  He thought about his conversation with Powers again.

  ‘Fuckin twat!’ He tossed the empty plate aside. ‘As if I’d go through that again! Give myself up!’

  For what? To bare his soul to Powers?

  And then the bastard had mentioned his Birdy, as if he knew how they felt for each other.

  How would he know? Had she spoken to Powers? About him? Powers said they worked together. But why hadn’t she been in touch?

  Maybe she’d tried... Well, she had his number now. Ironic too, it being her ex’s old phone. He laughed at that.

  Later, he rooted round in a cupboard and found what he was looking for, tugging it over his head. There were half a dozen coppers on the street, all with photos of him. Probably knew his face was bruised and lumpy, Suzie or the runt would have told them, for sure.

  But what he was wearing now was superb. A full face crash helmet. It was tight, but bearable. He checked the mirror. There was no way anyone could identify him, he could barely tell it was his face and he’d lived with it for thirty odd years.

  They would have to be nose to nose to tell it was him. Brilliant.

  He slipped it off and then rigged his remaining shotgun to hang off his right shoulder, the length adjusted to ensure the butt would fall into his palm. He then checked the Barbour. Would they recognise it? He had been wearing it when he arrived at the house, and when he blew away those cops on the motorway. He went for another rummage.

  The man’s clothes were smaller than John Finch’s and none of them fitted. It was a dilemma, he would have to risk sticking with the overcoat. At least it was raining so he wouldn’t stand out. He put it on, with the helmet, and inspected his image in the mirror.