by David Evans
“And young Joe Webster? Why stab him?” Appleyard challenged. “He would have been happy with my job when I retire next month.”
“You’re right. I didn’t condone that. But he was talking to that journalist Souter. And he’s still sniffing around. We might have to take care of him too.”
Sammy’s phone began to flash and she repeated Souter’s actions. Susan again.
“But back to me. The deal was I get my fee when the funding was secured. You have that now. Two hundred and fifty grand is a small price to pay for the potential millions you’ll make,” Appleyard said.
Sammy went to put her mobile back in her coat pocket but missed the opening. It clattered to the concrete floor.
“What was that?” Brogan sounded startled.
Souter looked to Sammy, alarmed.
“I’ll check it,” Kennedy answered.
Footsteps, then the sound of a door opening.
Fear swept over Souter and, gripping Sammy by her arm, he turned and shuffled them both back down the corridor. He pushed her into a side room just as Kennedy appeared at the corner.
Kennedy paused then glanced down at the mobile phone abandoned on the floor. Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out a handgun. “I think we’ve got company,” he shouted back to Brogan and the others.
* * *
Strong pushed the doorbell to the flat and waited. There was something wrong and he had to get to the bottom of it. She’d been late in that morning and had left early before he’d had a chance to talk to her.
A minute later, he heard footsteps on the stairs then the door opened.
“Guv?” Stainmore looked surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to see you, Kelly.”
“Oh.” She seemed embarrassed. “Personal or professional?”
“I know there’s something on your mind. I need to find out what.” He held his hands out. “More importantly, I need to help you.”
“I’m fine, honestly, guv.”
“Well drop the ‘guv’ and invite me in.”
She considered for a moment then held the door wide.
Strong led the way upstairs to her two-bedroomed flat whilst she closed the door behind them. Along the hall and into the lounge, he took in an empty wine bottle on the floor below the coffee table and a full glass of white wine on top.
“Drink?” she offered from the doorway.
“No thanks, Kelly, I’m okay.”
She sat on the settee and picked up her glass. “Sit down,” she said. “Don’t mind if I do though?”
Strong slowly sat in an armchair to the side. “I’m worried,” he said.
“What about?”
“You.”
“Why? I’m all right.”
He looked at her with raised eyebrows. “I can see different. I know you’ve done some great work recently but I can tell you’re not the Kelly who first became a DS.”
She avoided his gaze and didn’t reply.
“Look, we’ve known each other, what … five or six years?”
“Nearly.”
“Can we be honest with one another?” She nodded and he continued, “You’ve seemed lethargic in recent months, you’re also feeling cold and it’s September. And …”
She looked up. “I know, I’ve put on weight, my hair looks like shit and my skin’s crap.”
“I am worried about you,” he repeated.
“So was I but I think I’ve gotten to the bottom of it.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you. I saw my GP last week. He’s run some tests.” She took a sip of her wine. “That’s where I was this morning.”
“And?”
“I’ve got an underactive thyroid.”
“That’s great … I mean, that you’ve found out what it is. And it’s a simple treatment, right?”
“A pill a day for the rest of my life, yes.”
“So when did you start taking the medication?”
“This morning. I haven’t felt much difference yet but the doc says it kicks in fairly quickly. He also said it probably made me depressed too. He’s right; I have felt down for a long time. And this doesn’t help.” She held up her wine glass.
Before he could say any more, Strong’s mobile began to ring. He pulled it from his pocket and answered.
* * *
Susan considered her options. That didn’t take long, she could only think of two. The first was to drive down to the site herself. No, she didn’t think that was really a choice, especially if her friends were in trouble, and she felt they were, she’d just be complicating things. That left only one thing to do. Picking up her mobile once more, she dialled a number. It was answered on the fourth ring.
“DI Strong.”
“Mr Strong … Colin, it’s Susan here, Susan Brown.”
“Hello, Susan. Are you okay? What can I do for you?”
“It’s Bob … and Sammy …” She then proceeded to tell Strong where she thought they were and why. “I just have this feeling that something’s going wrong.”
Strong was silent for a moment. “Is this like one of your premonitions?” he finally asked.
“Sort of.”
“Where are you now?”
“At my flat.”
“Okay, you stay there. I’ll check out the old colliery site.”
The line went dead and Susan was left wondering what use she would be stuck in the flat.
* * *
Strong ended the call, a serious expression on his face.
“What’s up?” Stainmore asked.
“That was Susan.”
“The young woman from the schoolgirls’ case last year?”
“Yes. Apparently Bob, you know my journalist mate, and Sammy, the young girl whose friend was found dead last year …”
“I remember.”
“They’ve gone off on a mission to witness some secret meeting between council officials and some dodgy developer at the old Lofthouse Colliery site.”
“So why did she call you?”
“Because it involves a character by the name of Brogan who Bob mentioned to me a little while back and he’s connected with some dangerous thug by the name of William Kennedy, the one we’re looking to speak to in connection with the Webster stabbing. I think they might be walking into a dangerous situation.” He stood up. “Look, I’m going to have to go.”
She put her glass down on the coffee table and also got to her feet. “Well I’m coming with you.”
He held up both hands. “No you can’t. Besides, how many have you had?”
“This is my second and I’ve hardly touched it. I’m not arguing. I’m riding shotgun.” A grin appeared on her face as she walked to the hall and picked up her jacket. “Come on then. What are we waiting for? Perhaps the medication is kicking in.”
* * *
Kennedy pulled a torch from his pocket and shone it down the corridor. It picked out nothing more than some metal ceiling grid and broken tiles that had dropped onto the floor from above. That and some stones and paper strewn around by kids no doubt when they explored the buildings before the site was secured.
A sick grin formed on his face as he slowly walked down the corridor. Several doors led off either side and every one he came to he kicked open with a large boot. Each time the torch beam swept around an empty room. Until he came to an office on the left hand side.
Souter and Sammy were behind the door, flat against the wall, breath held, when the door shuddered open. The beam of light shone around then left. Souter relaxed a fraction before the hand appeared again. He decided he would have to take direct action and slammed the door against Kennedy. The torch flew from his hand and Souter dashed around the door to grapple with his nemesis.
Ron Boyle’s words came flooding back to him. Wiry, deceptively strong and violent with it. Although he was taller and heavier than Kennedy, the tables were quickly turned and the man who’d already tipped him into his own car boot had him
face down on the floor with both hands behind his back. The fight left Souter when he realised the muzzle of a gun was pressing against his cheek.
Sammy stood motionless, pressed to the wall unable to move with fear. She’d seen the gun in Kennedy’s other hand.
Kennedy looked up at her. “Fetch that fuckin’ torch over here!” he barked. “Try anythin’ and your friends brains will be spread all ower this flair.”
Carefully and deliberately, Sammy followed his instructions and passed the torch to him, her eyes never leaving the gun.
Kennedy had hold of both of Souter’s wrists when he pulled his weight off him. “On yer feet. An’ make it slow,” he commanded.
One halting movement at a time, Souter stood up.
Out in the corridor, Kennedy shuffled them both towards the corner then on into the meeting room where Brogan, Faulkner and Appleyard were waiting to see what had happened in the darkness.
“Look whae it is,” Kennedy introduced.
Faulkner and Appleyard looked shocked.
“Well, well … Mr Souter. You really are beginning to irritate me,” Brogan said. “And, if I’m not mistaken, one of your lovely friends. Miss Grainger, Samantha, how lovely to see you.”
Sammy cringed, not only at his tone but the fact he knew her full name.
“What the hell’s going on, Kenneth? Who are these two?” Faulkner asked, but his attention was focused on what was in Kennedy’s hand.
“Sit doon,” Kennedy said and shoved Souter and Sammy towards some chairs on the other side of the table.
Souter sat down and gently pulled Sammy into the adjacent seat.
“Bernard, I’m surprised you haven’t yet made the acquaintance of the renowned Yorkshire Post … what is it? … Crime and Home Affairs Correspondent, Mr Robert Souter. The young lady … well, I’m afraid I’m unable to give much information on her position. Apart from being in deep trouble here.” Brogan smirked.
* * *
On the drive to Lofthouse, Strong gave instructions to Stainmore. She was on the phone to the control room first, then the CID office. Luke Ormerod answered.
“Ask him to check out Kenneth Brogan and William Kennedy.” Strong said. “From memory, Kennedy has previous for violence. And get the Armed Response Unit to meet us.”
She did as asked then looked at Strong. “You really think it’s that serious?”
“It could be, Kelly. There’s big money at stake here.”
The rest of the journey was carried out in silence until Stainmore’s phone rang. “Yes Luke” She listened for a few seconds. “Hold on,” she said, then to Strong, “Apparently the ARU is on another shout over in Bradford. Something kicked off about an hour ago and they’re attending. And as regards Kennedy, quite a violent record but no mention of using a firearm. Brogan’s clean, as far as he can find out.”
“Shit. Tell him to round up whoever he can and get up to the old Lofthouse Colliery and meet us there. Soon as.”
Stainmore passed on the message and ended the call.
Five minutes later, they approached the site entrance. Strong slowed and pulled in to block the gates, killing the lights and switching off.
“That looks like Bob’s Escort over there.” He indicated the car parked about thirty yards up on the opposite side on the grass verge.
“How do you want to play this?”
“I think I need to have a quick look first, see what is actually going on. You stay here and wait for Luke.”
“But guv …”
“Don’t argue Kelly.” Strong opened the door just as a Nissan Micra drew to a halt behind his. “Bloody hell,” he said. “I told her to stay at the flat.”
Stainmore turned round in her seat. “Who’s this?”
“Susan Brown.” He got out and approached her car.
What’s happened?” Susan asked as she got out from behind the wheel.
Strong restrained her. “Nothing. Everything’s fine as far as we know, Susan.” He put his arms around her and guided her to the rear door of his Mondeo. Opening it, he said, “Just sit in here a minute, will you. You know DS Stainmore, Kelly?”
“Hi Susan,” Kelly greeted from the front seat.
She seemed reluctant but Strong gently eased Susan in and closed the door.
Zipping up his jacket and flicking up the hood he set off up the drive.
* * *
“Look, we don’t want any part of this nonsense,” Faulkner said.
“Nor me,” Appleyard concurred and stood up.
“Sit down,” Brogan said, all the more effective as he only raised his voice a touch. “Nobody’s going anywhere just yet.”
The engineer complied, looking increasingly worried, glancing at the gun several times.
“You’ve given us a real headache, Mr Souter,” Brogan went on. “I’ve no doubt you’ve been listening to our conversation for a little while now. So I imagine you’ve heard more than is good for you.”
Sammy held Souter’s left arm tighter. But he didn’t respond to Brogan immediately, his mind rapidly sifting through any ideas that might get them out of this situation. He thrust his right hand into his coat pocket and pulled it tighter around him. “What do you want then Brogan? This whole scheme is about to unravel in front of your eyes.” He decided a brazen approach was best, hence the use of the man’s surname. Meanwhile, his right hand gently fumbled about in his coat pocket.
“The thing is … Souter,” Brogan responded, “I haven’t actually done anything wrong. In fact, my company isn’t yet in contract for this scheme. The only parties who might be open to prosecution are the council officials sitting next to you.”
Kennedy, still with the gun aimed at Souter and Sammy, stood by the side of his boss grinning like a lunatic.
In his seated position, Souter’s pocketed hand was obscured from Brogan’s view by the table. He turned his mobile the right way round and pressed a few buttons. He only hoped his memory didn’t let him down and he was managing to connect with the number he wanted.
“In actual fact,” Souter said, “I could help you here.”
“And how could you possibly do that?” Brogan smirked.
* * *
Half way up the drive, Strong’s mobile began to vibrate in his pocket. He’d silenced it before setting off. He paused and pulled it free to see Bob’s name come up on the screen. “Hello, Bob?” he answered quietly, before realising his friend wasn’t actually speaking to him. But he could hear the conversation from the meeting room. He listened as he made his way carefully towards the building at the end of the driveway where two cars were parked.
He approached the lighted windows that had battens fixed across. Inside he could see two men standing, one well-dressed in a Crombie overcoat. He was the first voice he had heard through Souter’s phone call. To his left, a smaller skinnier man in a leather jacket and jeans stood, eyes focussed on the other people seated around a meeting table. But it was what he had in his right hand that alarmed Strong. The hand gun was pointed at Souter and Sammy who had their backs to the window. Side-on at the table was Bernard Faulkner and another older man Strong didn’t recognise.
If he was unsure as to the seriousness of the situation on the way here, he was in no doubt now. He turned and scuttled back down the drive to where he’d left Stainmore and Susan, all the while listening to events unfolding in the room in the old offices.
* * *
“For a start, as you say, the only people who’ve done anything wrong are these two here.” Souter indicated the council men.
“Just a minute …” Faulkner protested.
Souter interrupted him. “And I’m sure the readers would welcome a juicy story involving council officials lining their own pockets courtesy of a controversial commercial scheme.”
Brogan smirked. “Very true and possibly very creative of you. However there is one person here who might not like your logic and plan of action.”
Kennedy looked puzzled.
“What did t
hey used to say in the war … oh, yes, that was it, ‘Careless talk costs lives.’ Well thanks to the careless talk of our esteemed engineer here.” Brogan waved a hand in Appleyard’s direction. “I’m sure you heard him speak of … other matters.”
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Souter said.
“Very good, but I’m sure Wullie here doesn’t believe you. After all, he has more to lose than anybody after what you overheard.”
Kennedy stiffened. “What d’you mean, boss?”
“The unfortunate incident with Mr Chamberlain, Wullie,” Brogan explained.
Kennedy looked put out. “Ah didnae ken you’d clamped him up in that bedroom. Ah wis only meanin’ tae create a bit o’ damage. A warnin’, like.”
Souter only hoped the mobile phone link to Strong was working. “So it was you who set the fire where Charles Chamberlain died?”
“It wisnae deliberate.”
Brogan put a hand on Kennedy’s arm. “Trouble is Wullie, the courts might not see it like that.”
“Ah just wanted tae frighten him.”
“But Wullie wasn’t responsible for what was in his mouth?”
Kennedy looked perplexed.
“That’s never been …” Brogan’s angry expression melted into a grin. “I found it in the bathroom. I can only imagine the purposes it might have been used for.”
Souter decided there was no mileage in pretending he hadn’t heard what had been said about his schoolmate. “But then there’s Joe Webster,” he pressed on.
Brogan nodded. “So you heard that too?” He turned to Kennedy once more. “You see the trouble they think you’ve created Wullie?”
Kennedy looked amazed. “But it’s whit you wanted me to do.”
“I didn’t tell you to kill him.”
* * *
Back at the car, Strong dived into the driver’s seat, phone still clamped to his ear.
“Who is it?” Stainmore asked.
“What’s happening?” Susan joined in.
Strong covered the mouthpiece, still listening intently to the audio link from the old colliery offices. “We have a big problem,” he said. “Brogan and his nutter sidekick are holding Bob, Sammy, Faulkner, the council leader, and some other bloke at gunpoint.”