I reduced my caffeine intake and now drank Assam tippy tea. Yes it sounds pretentious but I really like my tea and after much testing I found my favourite and find it a real treat when I get to drink it. Once it was brewed I had one cup and then made another for my flask as I went down to my car. I was stiff and sore sat in the driver’s seat but it was only a short journey to the Fraser gym.
After the threat I had suffered when last there and the fresh memories and injuries I had acquired I was in no hurry to go back inside. No, I was going to have to wait it out and with nothing better to do I thought it a good time to sit in the boarded up bookmakers.
Now I’ve been in some dive bookies before and for the most part the reputation they have for being dingy smoke filled smelly places that are the home of the refuse of society and ne'er-do-wells is completely unfounded. The majority are now well maintained hi-tech centres for sport betting. The one I walked in was however not one of them.
When I said walked in I meant stood by the door for the better part of a minute banging on the small glass window till they noticed me and release the magnetic lock. I walked in with my still hot enclosed mug of tea and nodded to the large fat man behind the counter; he barely acknowledged me as he went back to watching the small television he had in the protective booth. I sipped the malty full bodied tea as I wrote down a couple of bets on the betting slips provided.
There were three other patrons inside; one of whom was, from the look and smell, homeless and was enjoying the warmth of the building for a couple of hours sleep. The other two appeared to be good friends and had a friendly rivalry over each dog race.
I read the papers and drank my tea. The cold weather had seen off most of the horse racing but the dog runners were made of sterner stuff. To be honest I didn’t mind sitting in there reading the racing paper and putting small wagers on. I was used to waiting for people and observing, it was all part of my training.
However once my tea was finished and the paper was read cover to cover I decided to ask my friend Rodney if he had any tips for the night. Once again I was subjected to a very loud conversation but he talked me through the next ten races for the night. I felt more confident when it came down to horses and sports so I was happy to defer to his greater wisdom. Placing my bets and watching them win on the old massive cathode ray televisions, something most bookmakers had done away with, I smiled. My pleasure came from winning but also taking money from a firm that had drawn out for months paying me over a hundred thousand pounds in winnings. Once they had paid me I made it a personal mission to win in their shops since they would prefer I lost that money back to them.
By closing at half past nine I was nearly one thousand pounds in profit and had a good war chest for later in the week and the running of my dog Ellies Legs. I walked out into the freezing cold air and rolled my shoulders, immediately regretting it, beneath my warm green fleece. The lights were however still on in the gym so I walked past and to my car. I sat there for another half hour before the last of the fighters and trainers left. Max and Tony left together with the owner locking the door and then placing a heavy chain and padlock on for extra safety.
Once I was sure that they had left I went about my business. Walking over to the gym I looked around making sure that I was not seen. Out of my jeans pocket I took my trusty small knife. I clicked it open and began cutting into the wall till I opened a hole big enough for me to dig out a bullet. Placing it in an evidence bag I took out a pair of tweezers and another bag and removed another bullet this one more delicately.
I thought one bullet would be a good gesture of good will for any investigator I ran across and the other was for my own testing. I daren’t risk taking a third and the rest would be a struggle for me to remove due to their height and my desire to remain inconspicuous. Happy with my night’s work I turned around to walk back to my car when I heard the shots. Instinctively I dropped low to the floor but it didn’t take long for me to recognise that the bullets had been fired close by but I was in no immediate danger. The question it left me was if that had been a danger for someone else.
Chapter Nineteen
The Elsworth sports centre was one of the few well used public facilities in the area. A large indoor area which was covered by what was essentially a large metal shed frame allowed for a host of sports ranging from netball to judo, gymnastics to badminton but the real profit maker was the outdoor football pitches. Originally they had been Astroturf pitches and on the far side two of them still are but the problem is that they, like grass, succumb to harsh weather. The new advancements in technology had led to six quality pitches of artificial grass with black pellet lining which reduced the burn injuries that people suffered on the Astroturf and was not prone to freezing.
It was due to those new pitches that there was a thriving five-a-side football league in residence there. The pitches were also used for teams to train on but that night it was a heated cup match between the North Passageway pub team versus the Elsworth Electros.
The Electros were a tournament side who had been to the cup final three out of the last four years. They played decent football and had a good core of young and older players. The team had started out as a group of local electricians and builders hence the name but had become a well respected staple of the Sunday soccer leagues. The smaller version of the game had become the place where the older original members had enjoyed success.
Northern Passageway pub was one of the roughest drinking establishments in the area. It was one of the few pubs still standing and for good reason. The majority of the men who drink in there were honest hard workers but a few, and that included the bar owner and then captain of the football team, are involved in drugs. This had caused problems for the pub but the fear that the members instilled had ensured it was still open and indeed thrived in a way. To increase an air of respectability they raised money for charities and had a number of sports teams including pool, darts and the aforementioned football side. This would mark the furthest the team had ever got in the cup and it was down to the skills of a young man off the estate and currently on the books of Tranmere Rovers.
It was this teenager that instilled a sense of dread and fear into Reginald Pierce. Reg had played the Northern Passageway side before. They had been a very physical side, going so far as to break his nose and glasses in a contested header even though they played a no over head height rule due to the low level walls that fenced them in. Reg was happy to be out of the house and getting the exercise and he was very much looking forward to going for a drink with the lads afterwards.
The boy was tearing them apart though and it was only by pure luck that it was still a draw at five all. Reg had been goalkeeping for two of the goals and was sure he had sprained his wrist trying to save one of the lad’s shots from going in. At least it wasn’t my drinking hand, he thought as he stood in defence watching the play unfold before him.
Dickie was what the Northern Passageway team members called the lad and it was Dickie who was now on the ball. He was gangly and in that awkward stage of adolescence where his body was developing faster than he could really understand. May be that was why his legs moved in such a confusing way as he darted past two midfielders, his shock of bright red hair plastered to his head with sweat.
It’s all on me, if he gets past he’ll have a free shot on goal and I don’t trust our keeper one bit. Went through Reg’s mind as he stood there essentially swaying on the spot as he watched the legs of the young man circle and dance around the ball and then in one glorious moment he made his decision and tackled. Dickie went over his left foot and he landed heavily on the ground, sliding and kicking up black pellets. Reg stood there for a moment with the ball at his feet not knowing what to do.
His teammates called for him to pass but it was if he was Moses and the opposition side was the Red Sea as they parted before him. Reg ran forward, a defender crossing the halfway line, and into the opposition half. One defender came towards him and somehow he smuggled the ba
ll between the man’s legs and created space for himself. He stared at the keeper before him and a smile crept across his face as he his leg swung back and he went to pull the trigger. I’m going to score the winner.
That was the last thought that went through his head as a bullet dislodged the majority of his brain from his skull. Another nine shots rang out killing three more people and wounding two more. The night of sport had become a night of bloodsport.
Chapter Twenty
I’ve always been astounded by how fast members of the public can arrive at crime scenes or disaster sites. It is as if they are capable of the fastest speed known to man; that of gossip. I heard the shots being fired and it was difficult to assess which direction they were coming from but once I was in my bar and breathing a sigh of relief I heard the police sirens and followed them to the sports centre.
Outside it, a small crowd of people had gathered and the six officers on the scene were struggling to move them from seeing the bodies. I parked my car down the road and walked down to the slightly raised parking lot. It gave me a view down onto the pitches and even after my years of dealing with grisly murders I was taken aback.
There was blood all over the green fake grass. Four bodies lay crumpled on the ground in distorted shapes that seemed inhuman. One of the bodies that I could see from my vantage point was missing the majority of his head, the contents of which had formed a puddle around the hole. It may sound morbid but I took out my phone and zoomed in taking as many photos I could before the paramedics and police moved over the scene.
Even with the sound of sirens I could hear the cries of people as a crowd formed around the wooden partition wall. Luckily for me working in Manchester gave me a decent grounding in gun crime and I backtracked from the direction of the blood splatter towards the area I suspected the shots had been fired, much like I had done at the first shooting location.
It was only a rough estimation mind you but it went through the car park then there was the main road and then a row of houses. The lights were on in all but one in the row, with the residents stood outside in their gardens or in the windows. I walked over towards them and flashed a quick look over my shoulder towards the police as they began to move people away. They would be over soon enough so I better get to work.
“Hi do you know what all the commotion is about?” I asked in the most disarming way possible to a group of women who had convened in one garden. My hands open and I smiled as I stopped on the edge of the pavement across from them.
They looked at each other before answering all of them aware that my accent was very much not their own. One of the group, a tall attractive blonde in her late thirties, I’d estimate, said curtly, “A shooting.”
“Sorry I was hoping for a little more detail,” I said kind of wishing Richard was there to woo them to my side. No one ventured anything so I took a step closer, “I’m a journalist and I thought that maybe the local residents would have an opinion on what has happened here.”
Again they looked at each other before the same woman spoke, “There was a shooting, guns get pulled all the time at those football games, people threatening each other. They think it makes them big men.”
“If only,” one of the women said, which brought laughter from the gaggle.
“I’m sorry to inconvenience you this way I really am, I just want to get a honest story from the people about what happened here before the police cover it all up,” I decided to play on the general distrust of the police from the people, “From what I can tell there a rifle attack on that football game.”
“Well we’ve not seen anyone toting a rifle around, have we ladies?” the spokeswoman said.
They shook their heads, “Have you seen anything out of the ordinary though? Not just today but over the last week?”
Again they remained silent and indicated in the negative apart from one of the younger members of the group, “There has been someone hanging around number forty two the past couple of days.”
Their eyes fell on the woman as she pointed to the house with no lights on. Now that I was closer and the other side of the street lighting I could see that it was boarded up. Metal grating covered the lower windows, “Do you know of any reason why anyone would be going in there?”
“Who knows? Maybe someone wants to do the place up,” the spokeswoman said and folding her arms. Hers was not the most aggressive body language of the group but it suggested I should stop prying.
I just nodded aware that I wasn’t getting very far and said thank you and good bye to the women who, aware that others had begun to look their way, decided to go back into the house. I was left wondering if speaking to anyone else would be of any use and wanting to have another look at the boarded up property.
Putting on a set of leather gloves that were tight enough to give me excellent dexterity I opened the rusted metal gate to the building. I still looked around to see if anyone was watching me but the attention of the street was still firmly on the shooting and the police seemed in no rush to come over either. The lock on the door was sturdy and new and all of the metal coverings seemed intact. Walking around the side of the house I tried the back door again with no luck. The place seemed sealed up tight. In my investigation I made sure to walk only on the pavement aware that any footprint I left could be dangerous. My awareness of footprints was however what helped draw my attention to lines left on the front garden as someone had walked across the corner of the dew sodden grass.
Someone or something had been there recently but I couldn’t tell if it was an animal or person and I didn’t want to hang around snooping on a property near a shooting, so quickly moved back to the street. I was walking towards an elderly couple who stood in their garden hoping for more responsive witnesses than the women I had spoken to earlier when a hand grabbed my coat sleeve. I turned sharply, still rather on edge, and with adrenaline racing through my body from looking at the house whilst a detective unit was only yards away from me. Luckily it was the younger woman from before who had spoken up.
“I’m sorry to startle you mister but I thought of something else,” she said as I relaxed a little and looked at her closely. She was shorter than average with bottle blonde hair and a nice kind face. Her clothing was casual but smarter than the outfits the rest of the group had been wearing, one or two of them happy to be outside in nightwear. In the dim light I couldn’t tell the colour of her eyes but they were large and I could tell she was afraid.
“You did? That’s brilliant Miss.....?”
She looked away, “I’d rather not say the others don’t know I’m speaking to you, they think I’m just getting another bottle of wine from my house. We have a book club this night every week.”
“It’s ok, you don’t have to give me your name.”
“There was a car that left just before the emergency services arrived. I remember because its headlights shone into the front room on full beam and nearly blinded us as we got up to see what had happened. I’m not used to all this shooting like the others; I’ve only just moved to the area with my husband for work. They’re nice people, just not very trusting of strangers who ask questions,” she seemed scared of the group of women, more so than the fact that there had been a brutal set of murders across from her house.
“Thank you very much, that could be very helpful. I don’t suppose you saw the make or model of the car or anything like that?”
She shook her head, “No I’m sorry, I tried to stay as far away from the window as possible when I heard the shots. I mean at first I thought that they were perhaps just fireworks but they were so loud, one after another. Like I said I’m not used to it but living around here you have to deal with the fact that it is a way of life for a lot of people. The others…they just laugh it off but it took all of my willpower not to dive to the floor.”
“I understand it is a very distressing period. Could give you my card in case there is anything more remember it could be useful,” I said digging out one of the fake business cards
I had in my wallet and handing it to her, “Thank you again, you better be getting back inside.”
“Yes, yes,” she said rushing back to the house.
“Miss, Miss,” I called out, stopping her in her tracks before she reached the threshold, “Don’t forget the wine.”
Chapter Twenty One
After speaking to the reticent woman, I had asked questions to seven other residents with little improvement on the information I already had. I found out that the house at number forty two had been boarded up for the better part of a month and that it was a shame the Smithes had been forced to leave. None of which was really that helpful. No one else had seen the suspicious car leave either, the driver obviously correcting the lighting problem quickly as they left. I was certain that the shooting had been carried out with a rifle. The damage that had been inflicted on the bodies and the holes left in the wooden walls indicated severe explosive power and I didn’t think that a pistol would have been that deadly.
The newspapers and television stations agreed on that fact and I was surprised the police had released the information. They suggested that there was some link to the gang shootings from earlier as it appeared one of the football teams had connections with the drug groups in the area. It seemed strange to me however that a rival gang would open fire on civilians. The recent attacks had all been well executed killings. Firing into a crowd was not what I had expected but if it was gang related I could appreciate the shock value.
A Shot In The Night (John Harper Series Book 2) Page 8