Revenge

by Bill Ward

  “Would you like some coffee?” he asked eager to get away. “They have a machine.”

  “White no sugar, please,” she responded neutrally.

  Tom ambled to the machine, wondering just how long he could stretch out the getting coffee experience. He cursed when he realised he didn’t have sufficient coins for two cups. He would have to go without.

  He returned with the coffee and as she took it she pleaded, “Can’t we ask someone what’s going on?”

  “I’ll check to see if there’s any news,” he responded but as he turned to confront the nurse once more, he spotted the Consultant heading down the corridor in his direction.

  Tom was keen to have a first word out of earshot of Liz and hurried toward Seymour. As he came close, Tom tried to determine whether the news would be positive from looking at the Doctor’s face but he was giving no clues.

  The doctor came straight to the point. “Your brother’s in intensive care. The operation went well but he is still critical.”

  Tom felt hugely relieved the first words out the Doctor’s mouth hadn’t been to announce Colin’s death. “Thank you,” he said with a broad smile. He felt like the condemned man given a last minute stay of execution.

  The Doctor seemed less excited by the news he’d imparted. “His condition is still very serious,” he stressed. “The next forty eight hours are the most important.”

  “Can we see him?”

  “I’ll send a nurse to collect you in a few minutes. He’s unconscious so you won’t be able to communicate with him. Now if you’ll forgive me I have to rush.”

  “One last question. Do I need to pay for anything to improve his chances?” Tom realised it was tactless the moment the words left his lips.

  The Consultant didn’t look pleased by the question. “I can assure you he is already getting the very best of care available,” he responded testily. “Your prayers might be more useful than your money.”

  Then the Doctor turned on his heels and was on his way. Off to save someone else’s life no doubt, Tom thought. He watched John Seymour’s departing back with admiration. It was a name he knew he’d never forget. He turned and could see Liz staring at him with a look of expectation in her eyes. Tom gave her his best reassuring smile and immediately saw her relax a little.

  Sam booked into the hotel close to Heathrow Airport at 5.00am. Airport hotels were used to people coming and going at all hours and the reception showed no sign of surprise at her early, unplanned arrival. She had obtained a small pack of essentials from reception, which included a toothbrush and toothpaste, as she had left her wash bag and cosmetics in the hotel bathroom in Brighton.

  She went straight up to her room and soaked for a long time in a very hot bath. She hated Connor for what he’d done but recognised that in some ways she’d escaped lightly from him. He was a sick bastard and there was no knowing what he might have done, if she’d stuck around any longer.

  She was thankful she had turned up for her three monthly contraceptive injection just a couple of weeks earlier and so didn’t have to worry about the possibility of being pregnant. The pig hadn’t even bothered to check whether she was taking contraception. She hoped he didn’t have any nasty diseases. She would have to get a checkup as soon as possible. Anyway, Connor was history. She didn’t know if the police had found him still in the room back in Brighton but even if not they had his name and he wouldn’t find it easy to evade them. She managed a small smile at the thought of Connor in the bath when the police charged into the room. At least he had served a purpose in getting rid of Ashdown.

  She’d paid a high price for her revenge but with hindsight maybe it was worth it. If he’d asked her up front for a quick shag in return for killing Ashdown, she might well have agreed. After all she was basically bartering sex for Eduardo’s assistance. And it wasn’t the first time in her life she wanted to forget a sexual experience. There had been a couple of drunken occasions where she regretted who she woke up with the next day. This was different though and she wouldn’t easily forget Connor. In fact she didn’t want to forget him and when she returned to Belfast, she would seek him out and make him pay. For now she would look forward to seeing Eduardo and some pampering in Paris.

  As she came out the bathroom she heard mention of Ashdown’s name on the television. She hurried to turn up the volume and heard the reporter say he was in hospital in a critical state. Though immediately disappointed he wasn’t dead, she was pleased to hear he still might not live. Her emotions changed rapidly though when she realised that it was his brother who had been shot and a neighbour had been killed. That fool Connor had managed to shoot two people but neither of them was the bloody intended target.

  She slunk on the bed uncertain what to do next. There was no mention of Connor so she had to assume he’d not still been sat in the bath when the police arrived. It was ironic she decided but actually perhaps Connor’s incompetence had worked out for the best. Her brother was suffering in jail and now Ashdown’s brother was also suffering. Ashdown would have to live with the knowledge he was responsible for his brother’s being shot. Maybe this was a more potent revenge even than actually killing him. Her spirits lifted.

  Eduardo’s plane was due to arrive in two hours. That still gave her plenty of time for a bit of shopping. There were some nice shops at the airport. She intended to look and smell her best for him. It would take him about another hour to clear customs and she would surprise him by waiting for him at arrivals. She wondered if he would recognize her. She had been a blonde the last time they met. Hopefully that hadn’t been all that attracted him.

  Then she could take a taxi with him to his hotel. She had returned the hire car at the airport, as the police would now be looking for her. At the very least the hotel in Brighton would have given a description of her and the car to the police and she didn’t fancy driving around in it any longer. She now realised she had acted too hastily when she sent the police hurrying to her hotel room. In her desire to get back at Connor she’d overlooked the fact that the room also pointed straight to her. There had even been a video camera over the front door, which if working must have captured images of her and Connor. There would also be fingerprints but fortunately she had no criminal record. All in all it was a mess but she knew she would be safe once she was with Eduardo and out of the country.

  Connor knew he’d been lucky to escape the police. Laying in his bath in the hotel room, he’d heard just the sound of the television and wasn’t surprised when Sam, I’m too fucking good for you, Murphy ignored his request to get him a scotch. She was probably sleeping or had just returned to being a cold bitch. He’d finished his leisurely bath, wrapped the towel around his waist and returned to the hotel bedroom to discover the bloody girl missing. He’d dressed quickly and gone looking for her.

  After a fruitless look in the local streets, which even in the early hours of the morning were still relatively busy with late night clubbers finding their way home, he returned after half an hour to see the arrival of armed police sealing off the road and entering the hotel. Glad he wasn’t alone on the streets, he walked for five minutes and then asked the first couple of guys he came across if there was somewhere he could still get a drink. They directed him to a bar just a couple of streets away, which they said they regularly frequented and would be open all night.

  When Connor arrived, he wasn’t entirely shocked to find it was a gay bar. He needed to be inside both to avoid the police and to keep out the cold, so wasn’t going to go looking for anything else. The bar wasn’t terribly busy and he bought a pint of the Black Stuff with a whisky chaser before seating himself at a small table where he could keep an eye on the entrance to the bar. The only half decent thing about the Brits was their pubs all sold Guinness. The lighting was subdued and a George Michael song was playing in the background. A couple of men were shuffling around an improvised dance floor near to their table. He didn’t get how a man could dance with a man. Men were great for having a few drin
ks with and many things but he found the thought of sex with a man as disgusting. They were mostly ugly, hairy, dirty sods who farted too often. How could you ever fancy one of them!

  His demeanour didn’t invite company but still a couple of men approached him individually to start conversations, which were abruptly met with a succinct “piss off”. One persevered by ridiculously asking if he wanted to go round the back with him. Was the idiot deaf? Connor pointed out the only reason he would go around the back with the man would be to beat the crap out of him and he shuffled away. Being alone Connor realized he probably would be mistaken for someone looking for some late night action. He needed to be more careful if anyone else approached. He couldn’t afford to get in a fight and have the bloody police arrive.

  As he sipped his drink he cursed the day he’d ever set eyes on the Murphy girl. She’d brought him nothing but trouble. What the hell was he going to tell the Chief? Certainly not the truth. He wouldn’t approve of him putting a mission at risk for a shag. Then again she wouldn’t be the Chief’s favourite person either. He could tell the Chief it was her who had ratted him out to the cops. That would seal her fate. Even if she felt she had a good reason, the Chief would never forgive her for calling the cops. Anything she said would be tainted by that action. Whatever lies she tried to construct, Connor would just have to say she was lying and had it in for him. Connor had done a lot of good work over the years. The Chief would surely believe him before her and even if he did suspect something was not quite right, Connor knew he was too useful an asset to be disposed of lightly. If it came down to it the Chief would simply measure his value against hers and there could surely only be one winner.

  His mind went back to how he was going to get out of Brighton. It was risky to take the train but he had little choice as his car was in the hotel car park and now no doubt being crawled over by the cops. He checked his phone and found the first train to Victoria went at 5.10am. Only just over an hour away. That was good news. He would have to tread carefully in case the cops were watching the station. Though they might not react that fast. He’d buy a ticket from one of the automatic ticket machines.

  He drank the remainder of his pint slowly. After a while he looked at his watch again. He didn’t want to be hanging around the station too long, so time for one more scotch then he would be on his way. He would spend the journey mulling over what he’d do to Sam Murphy, if he ever came across her again.

  He approached the bar and ordered his drink. Two men were chatting at the bar and looked up as he came near. He could see their reflection in the large glass mirror behind the bar.

  “Let me get that for you,” one of them offered.

  Connor was about to object when he had a second thought and decided to accept. “Don’t mind if you do,” he said pleasantly. “The name’s Brendan. Can I join you?”

  “Please do,” the man who had offered to buy the drink said. “I’m Ian and this is Simon.”

  Connor noticed they both had tattoos all the way up their arms. Their hair was cut very short and they were both thickset. They looked like they both worked out regularly at the gym, probably lifting weights.

  “You Irish?” Simon asked.

  “As Irish as they come,” Connor answered, adding an additional lilt to his normal accent. “Where you guys from?”

  Ian answered, “We live in Haywards Heath. That’s about twenty minutes from here.”

  “You two brothers by any chance?” Connor asked. He thought they looked very alike.

  That elicited a laugh from both of them.

  “Definitely not,” Simon answered. “We’ve been married for a couple of years.”

  Connor thought the idea of two guys being married fucking weird. It wouldn’t happen back home. He forced a smile.

  “Haven’t seen you in here before,” Ian stated.

  “It’s my first time,” Connor replied. “It’s a bit quiet isn’t it?”

  Simon responded, “A combination of the weather and being early in the week. The place is packed out at the weekend.”

  “Actually we need to be going quite soon,” Ian said. “We have a train to catch.”

  “Is that the five ten? Only I’m getting that as well.”

  “It is,” Ian confirmed. “Haywards Heath is the second stop. Perhaps you’d like to come back to our place for a drink?”

  Connor couldn’t believe his luck. He had accepted the offer of a drink because he remembered the cops would be looking for a man on his own. He needed some company and it looked like he’d just found it. He would change his mind about going for the drink when they arrived at Haywards Heath station. He would feign tiredness or some other excuse. Connor lifted his whisky to his mouth and downed it in one.

  “I’d love to come for a drink. I’ll just visit the bog and then I’ll be with you,” Connor said. Then he added with a grin, “We can have a bit of a party.”

  Ian and Simon both smiled at Connor’s last remark. Connor smiled too at the thought of how disappointed they would be when they didn’t get their threesome.

  Jones was shocked to hear about the shootings at Ashdown’s home. He didn’t like being kept in the dark. He should have been told. He had no moral problem with trying to kill Ashdown. Any sense of morality he might have once possessed, had long since been replaced by the overriding need for self-survival. He was pretty certain Connor was responsible and decidedly angry his own plans had been put in jeopardy. Connor was a necessary evil but also a liability the longer he was roaming the streets. Unfortunately, this morning’s early raid on the hotel where he’d been staying, had revealed the bird had flown the nest. That was not part of the plan. He was supposed to stay holed up in the hotel waiting to hear from Jones. In an ideal world he would then have been shot resisting arrest but in any event there was a trail that clearly laid the blame for Bancroft’s death at Connor’s feet.

  It had been an uncomfortable couple of hours at the office wondering what the hell had happened to Connor, before the news came through that an anonymous tip off was naming Connor responsible for the events in Brighton. Although unplanned, this would seal Connor’s fate. Every police force in the country would shortly be looking for him and there would be no hiding place. Fortunately the timing of Bancroft’s demise was such that it appeared Connor had murdered him and then after gone directly to Brighton intent on also killing Ashdown.

  Jones did wonder who was responsible for the phone call. He assumed it was the woman that the hotel had reported was staying in the room, where they were supposed to find Connor. Perhaps they had had some falling out. Anyway, he wasn’t concerned with solving unnecessary puzzles. He was just grateful how things had turned out well in the end. The arrival of Connor had handed him the perfect way to solve the problem of Bancroft. Jones had removed Bancroft and planned Connor should take the blame. Now Connor was branded guilty of two murders, it could hardly have worked out any better.

  Jones had not wanted to hand Connor details of the route by which they would be taking Murphy to Court but he had had little choice. It had been that way for a long time. He despised himself almost as much as the likes of Connor and his Chief, for passing across secrets but he had a family and couldn’t bear the shame of the truth coming out. He was enduring a life sentence and he could see no way of getting remission on his sentence. He knew he would end his own life though before ending up in a real prison.

  He had grown to hate Ireland and especially Belfast. It was a city torn in two and madmen roamed the streets carrying out terrible atrocities in the name of religion. He had been caught up in the worst of it many years earlier, when he was much younger and had allowed his desires to get the better of him. The Irish were to blame for all his troubles then and still today.

  He thought of himself as a fundamentally decent man but he knew, if judged by his peers, his actions sometimes said something different. He hoped that by removing Connor he would avoid the information he had passed ever being used. He did have some misgivings t
hat with Connor not yet apprehended he might still make an attempt on Murphy but it seemed unlikely. Connor’s face had been released to the press and was already appearing on every television news broadcast. If he hadn’t previously known he was being hunted, he did now, and undoubtedly the rat would be buried in some sewer planning the fastest way out of the country.

  Jones felt able to relax a little. If they could find Connor quickly that would be an end to it. Connor must be the Chief’s best man. There wouldn’t be time to send someone else. Fortunately Jones also believed Connor was unlikely to ever be taken alive. If he had read him correctly, he would rather die in a shootout than surrender. At least Jones was hoping that was the case. And if he was wrong and Connor was taken, he was confident he would never disclose Jones existence. On the one hand he was old school who wouldn’t dream of being disloyal to the Chief but more importantly, he would keep quiet and hope Jones could use his position of influence to help him escape. That would prove to be a false hope.

  For once Jones had done as he was instructed and been well paid for it but his conscience may not have to suffer the burden of being at least indirectly responsible for further terrible deeds. In fact, he could be instrumental in removing a nasty piece of work in Connor from the streets. With a bit of luck it would all be over by the weekend and he would still be able to have an uninterrupted dinner party. Tonight’s bottle of wine was going to taste even better than usual.

  Tom was unpacking his suitcase in his new hotel room when Melanie called. There had been nothing more he could do at the hospital and he’d returned home hoping for a shower and change of clothes. The policeman standing outside his front door had at first refused him entry, on the basis the house was now a crime scene but a call was made to Chief Inspector Parkin and he had been allowed to pack one suitcase of clothes and toiletries, all the time accompanied by a watchful officer.