Redemption

by Jessica Ashe

  No, I had to do this myself. I could record my conversation with Winston and even if that wasn’t enough for a conviction, it should at least be enough to get him thrown off the force. Once he was no longer a cop, I could truly go after him in a way that would not involve me recording any of our “discussion” for use as evidence.

  The bar was located on a busy main road, but there were three side streets that all led to that main road and afforded a view of the bar. I choose the quietest of those streets, even though it didn’t have the best view of the bar.

  I didn’t need to see the actual side door they would walk in and out of; seeing either Dave or Winston approach would be enough. Once in position, I double checked that my phone was recording everything and then waited.

  The fishing knife was sheathed and in my jacket pocket. My hand grabbed hold of it every five seconds just to make sure it was still there. If everything went smoothly, I wouldn’t need to use the knife, but I wasn’t sure I wanted things to go smoothly.

  A part of me—a large part—wanted Winston to attack me. I wanted to have an excuse to use the knife in self-defence. Either directly or indirectly, I didn’t care which, this man was responsible for the attack that left Maisie and Michelle with permanent scars on their bodies. It would be tough to look at him, let alone talk to him and pretend to go along with the scam for long enough to get incriminating evidence.

  For thirty minutes, all I saw were men and women leaving the pub through the front door and heading out into the night to go home or onto the next drinking establishment. Small groups of people gathered while they waited for taxis, but I saw no sign of Dave or Winston.

  There was no guarantee they would come here tonight, but they only had a few more days of the World Cup left and wouldn’t be slacking off at such a peak moment for illicit money making.

  I hadn’t even realised how tense my body had been, until my phone vibrated in my pocket, making me jump, but at least giving me a chance to take a few deep breaths. It was Michelle, wondering where I was. We were supposed to be watching a movie, which I’d completely forgotten about.

  I didn’t reply. I didn’t want to lie to her. I could make up an excuse about my phone being dead next time I saw her.

  An hour passed. I had to move around to keep sane, so I walked past the pub, trying to look as casual as possible, and glanced down the alley to see if the light was on in the back room. Nothing.

  I walked to another street and waited again. This time I did see something. Dave walked out of the pub like the other patrons, but instead of walking away he walked down the alley and into the back room, switching on the light as he did so.

  Dave wasn’t my target tonight. It was Winston I wanted. Sixty seconds later, Winston was exactly what I got. He parked up a hundred yards away and walked towards the alley.

  Okay Oliver, this is the moment you’ve been waiting for. I checked the knife once more. Still there. I was good to go. Showtime.

  “Can we start the movie anyway?” Maisie asked. “I’m already going to struggle to stay awake for the whole thing.”

  “I guess so,” I replied. “I just wish I knew where Oliver was. He’s been acting so strange lately.”

  “He’s just nervous about the game,” Maisie said. “I can’t even imagine the pressure he must be under right now.”

  “I suppose,” I said, before sending him a quick text to ask him if he was coming home soon. I’d told him we all wanted to have one last quiet night together before he went and joined back up with the England team. From tomorrow night, they would all be staying at a hotel together, so I wouldn’t see him until after the final.

  Maisie and I had even gone to the effort of making healthy snacks for Oliver to eat while we watched the film. Now it looked like I would be snacking on carrots and celery by myself. Lovely.

  We tried to watch the movie, but I couldn’t concentrate. Something didn’t feel right. Oliver never disappeared without telling me where he was going, and he always responded to my messages. After thirty minutes, he still hadn’t replied, but my phone told me that the message had been read at his end.

  “Okay,” Maisie said, pausing the film. “You’re obviously worried about him. You always bite your nails when you’re nervous.”

  I took my nails out of my mouth. It was a nasty habit. “It’s not like him to disappear.”

  “He’s probably just hanging out with the team,” Shaun said. “They had a training session earlier today. I reckon they’re spending a few extra hours going over tactics.”

  “But he would have let us know where he was,” I said. “Okay, I’m going to do something very bad, but I’m only doing it because it’s an emergency. Never tell Oliver I did this.”

  “Uh, Michelle, you have me a little worried now,” Maisie said, coming over and sitting next to me in the space that had been intended for Oliver. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to track his phone and find out where he is,” I replied.

  “You bugged him?” Maisie asked. “I never took you for the possessive type.”

  “No, it’s not like that. He used my phone to track his one day when he lost it, and I don’t think he wiped it.”

  I opened up the app on my phone, and quickly found out how to pinpoint the location of his phone.

  “Oh,” I said, looking at the location on the map. “That’s good, I guess. He’s in a bar, by the looks of it.”

  “Maybe he forgot about tonight,” Shaun said. “Although he shouldn’t really be drinking anyway, this close to the big game.”

  “I doubt he’s drinking,” I said, as I opened up a map app on my phone. “He’s in an American bar. There’s no way he’d drink any of the beer in there.”

  “An American bar?” Maisie asked, then glanced over at Shaun. The two of them shared a knowing look, and I thought I detected a note of concern on their faces. “Which American bar?”

  I showed Maisie and Shaun the map, and they looked at each other again. “What is it?” I asked. “You know the bar?”

  “Sort of,” Maisie replied. “Don’t be mad, but Shaun and I were going to head down there the other day to watch a game of football.”

  “I figured I should learn the rules if I’m going to move there,” Shaun said.

  “You’re allowed to be in pubs under eighteen,” Maisie said. “You just can’t order alcohol, which obviously we weren’t going to do.”

  “Good,” I replied. “So what’s it like down there?”

  “That’s the weird thing,” Maisie said. “When we were on our way out, we bumped into Oliver and he told us not to go to the bar. He said very clearly that we were not to go there.”

  “He was a little scary actually,” Shaun said. “I’ve not seen him like that before.”

  “So why would he be there now?” Maisie asked.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “But I don’t like it.”

  Oliver wasn’t the type to overreact. If he’d told the kids not to go to that bar, then he had good reason. This entire situation felt wrong. Oliver had been in a weird mood for days, and then there had been the big confession about his past which came out-of-the-blue. Was that in some way connected to the bar?

  “Maybe we should call the police?” Maisie asked. “He might be in danger.”

  “No,” Shaun said quickly. “You can’t trust them. The people who killed my dad had a contact in the police force; no need to guess who it was either.”

  “I can call Chief Superintendent Hodgson,” I said. “She’ll know what to do.”

  I pulled Hodgson’s card out of my purse, but I didn’t dial the number. I stared at the card trying to extract a thought that was niggling away at the back of my brain.

  What was it that troubled me? Obviously I was worried for Oliver’s safety, but there was something else.

  I kept remembering snippets of conversations I’d had with Hodgson, and I knew there was something I should have spotted. Was she trying to tell me something?
<
br />   I spotted you easily enough on my way to the bathroom.

  “Why an American bar?” I asked aloud.

  “Winston’s American,” Shaun said. “He was born there. That just makes me even more certain that he’s involved and that this is something dangerous.”

  “Maybe,” I said uncertainly. “That would be a bit obvious though, wouldn’t it?”

  What’s this bloody thing on your head? You’re not a Chargers fan are you?

  I wanted someone to hit me on the back of the head just to see if the thought would make its way to the surface, but I had to remain vaguely calm in front of Shaun and Maisie. They wouldn’t want to see me completely lose it.

  I dialed the number, but only got her voice mail. When I heard the beep, I opened my mouth to leave a message, but then stopped and hung up, dropping the phone into my lap as a wave of nausea came over me.

  Ah, lager and Sprite. Now there’s a refreshing drink.

  “Are you alright, sis?”

  I massaged my temples with my fingers. Maybe if I rubbed hard enough the pieces would come together.

  “Be right back,” Shaun said, standing up. “Just nipping to the toilet.”

  Just as Shaun walked out of the room, Maisie yelled out “bathroom. You’ll have to get used to calling it that once we move to the US.”

  Finally, it hit me. I had the full picture in my head.

  Some men matching the description you gave showed up on CCTV a few hundred yards down the road.

  “Oliver’s wrong,” I said softly, barely able to speak the words. “He’s wrong. So wrong.”

  “Wrong about what?” Maisie asked. “You have me a little scared right now.”

  I quickly picked up my phone and dialed the main number for the police station which was also listed on Hodgson’s card.

  I know you both must still have the scars from that night, but they have it worse.

  We might be too late, but I had to try. Oliver was walking into a trap; one he might never walk out of.

  “Hello, this is the West London Police Station,” a man’s voice answered. “How can I help?”

  Please don’t be too late. “I need to speak to Superintendent Winston,” I said calmly. “Tell him it’s Michelle Portman. Hurry, please, it’s an emergency.”

  A stealth approach seemed like the logical thing to do, although with my six foot five-inch frame and above average build, I looked more like a drunk staggering around than someone trying to be stealthy.

  A few people inside the pub gave me a curious stare as I walked past the window, but you saw all sorts walking around London at night, so no one thought too much of it.

  I pulled out my phone to triple-check that I was recording everything, but in doing so the bright screen illuminated me and everything else down the dark alley. As far as being a spy went, I was less James Bond and more Johnny English.

  My hand instinctively reached out and felt the knife in my jacket pocket. I should be able to take it out quickly if need be. One hand would grab hold of the sheath through the jacket, while the other hand would take hold of the handle and pull. It had worked in front of the mirror at home, but back then my hands hadn’t been sweaty, and my heart hadn’t been pounding in my chest.

  I made it to the pub’s back entrance without being spotted. The door was slightly ajar, so I took a peek through, but could only see a table and some empty chairs. The fat stacks of cash on the table made it fairly obvious that either this pub was doing a heck of a lot of business, or there was something dodgy going down.

  The room was brightly lit, so the second I walked inside, all hope of taking them by surprise would disappear in an instant.

  I had a good idea of what to expect in there, but that wouldn’t be much good if I walked in having literally brought a knife to a gunfight. Not to mention, a copper would know all sorts of ways to commit crimes and get away with it, whereas I’d never used a weapon before. This didn’t bode well.

  I opened the door a few inches further and peeked inside. Still no sign of anyone. This time I opened the door far enough to get my body through and walked inside. This was it. Tonight I would either get my revenge, or… well, I didn’t want to dwell too much on the alternative.

  In true clumsy fashion, I managed to kick over a stray beer bottle left by the door. Seconds later, a blow landed on the back of my head, and everything went black.

  -*-

  My eyes opened, but immediately closed again as the light sent a shooting pain through my head. I was sat on a cheap plastic chair, and when I squinted I could make out a table in front of me. The cash was still there in neat little piles. I was in the same room.

  Someone was sat opposite me, but it took three attempts at opening my eyes before I could make out who it was.

  “Hodgson?” I asked, when I saw her sat casually opposite me. “What’s going on? Did you catch him?”

  “Catch who?” Hodgson asked.

  “Winston. What happened? I remember walking in and then...”

  “Then you were hit over the head with a blunt instrument and rendered unconscious. You’ll have a nasty bruise there in the morning.”

  “How did you know I would be here?”

  “I knew you’d come here by yourself. You’re brave, I’ll give you that. Stupid, but brave.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course not,” Hodgson said, casually picking at her fingernails. “Like I said, stupid, but brave. If I’d had more time I could have probably engineered this whole situation to make it look like Winston really was behind it all. Hell, I could have probably arrested him for it like I did with Carl. But, time is slipping away and as much as I’d like to incriminate Winston, I’m even more eager to make money.”

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” I asked. “All this time, you were the one running this operation.”

  Eight years ago, she’d taken charge of the operation that had ended with Carl and Wayne behind bars. She had the perfect cover. She was the last person anyone would suspect.

  “I’ve kept things quiet over the last few years, but I guess you could say I’ve come out of retirement.”

  My hand reached for my knife, even though I was likely too weak to use it. The pocket was empty.

  “Looking for this?” Dave said, appearing from behind me before sitting down next to Hodgson, waving the knife in front of me.

  “I’m slightly insulted that you thought you could bring me down with a fisherman’s knife, Olly,” Hodgson said, speaking to me as if we were friends chatting in the pub. “Still, I admire your spirit. Always have done. That’s why it’s going to be such a surprise when you bottle it during the World Cup Final and lose the game.”

  “You should know better than anyone that I’m not going to throw the game. Not again.”

  Hodgson gave a long, drawn out sigh. “I’m getting a strong sense of déjà vu here. I was listening in on the conversations you had with Carl eight years ago, when you said much the same thing. Remind me, how did that end?”

  “You know full well how it ended,” I snarled, spitting at her for good measure. It seemed like the appropriate thing to do in the circumstances, but my spit landed on the table raising a wry smile from her.

  I still found it hard to reconcile the fact that Hodgson had been behind this the entire time. I’d trusted her. I’d even told Michelle to contact her in an emergency. I never seemed to be able to keep Michelle safe, no matter what I tried.

  She’d arrested Carl and Wayne for money laundering, and had told me that there wasn’t enough evidence to tie them to a betting ring. I hadn’t cared at the time. They were both going to do serious time, and that was the important thing.

  Now I realised she had done that to avoid a full investigation into the betting ring. The betting ring that she operated from behind the scenes.

  “In that case, you know full well what I am capable of,” Hodgson said. “The acid attack had been unfortunate. I never wanted to do that, Olly, but you gave me
no choice.”

  “And what about Gary?” I asked. “Did he need to die?”

  “Quite frankly, yes, he did. He was becoming a liability. I would have disposed of him anyway, but when he came into the police station to file a report, I had to accelerate things somewhat.”

  “You won’t—”

  “Get away with this?” Hodgson interrupted, and then laughed. “This isn’t a movie, Olly. I already have gotten away with it.”

  I did my best to smile, although my head hurt like hell when I did so. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that if I were you.”

  “Oh really? Because of the phone recording you have of my confession?” Hodgson pulled my phone out of her pocket and waved it in front of my face. She must have taken it while I was unconscious. “I’m offended, Olly. You may not like me much, but please have some faith in my intelligence.”

  “So what happens now?” I asked. “You can’t let me out of here alive, because I will go straight to the police. If you’re going to kill me, get it over with.”

  “I don’t have to kill you. You have no evidence, so you’d be stupid to go to the police. You’re stupid, but not that stupid. Do what I say and no one has to die. This could all be over in a week. How does that sound?”

  “You should have more than enough now,” I said loudly, raising my voice even though it made me have a coughing fit.

  “More than enough what?” Hodgson asked, looking puzzled.

  Come on, hurry up.

  “Well then?” Hodgson continued. “Are you going to accept—”

  The door crashed open, and I dropped to the floor like I’d been told. There was a lot of shouting, but no gun shots, and within minutes the entire thing was over.

  Winston stood over me, and extended a hand, helping me to my feet.

  “You sure left it late,” I said, feeling light on my feet as I stood up. My ears were still ringing, but I could hear Hodgson yelling as she was thrown into the back of a police car.