Death and Deception

by B. A. Steadman

  Team 2 positioned themselves at the door and waited for the signal to go in. Manley could hear at least four voices. They were watching the football. Manley flexed his fingers around the gun, and wiped sweat from his top lip with his free hand. Lake nodded to him, raised his hand in a “wait until I give the order” motion, and waved his own team onward.

  Team 1 ascended the stairs. As Lake paused to work out which bedroom the others were in, the bedroom door to his left opened, and out walked a little boy. He stood at the top of the stairs and looked down. He didn’t seem to know what to do about a group of armed men pressing themselves to the wall. Lake smiled and made a ‘shushing’ motion, placing a finger to his lips. The little boy smiled back, and waved. Calmly, he wandered back inside the room where he let out a huge wail, and called for his mum.

  Lake whispered a command and Manley and his team burst into the living room. Two of the men were up and out of their chairs in seconds, scrabbling to get away from the machine guns and the copper with the mad glint in his eye. The other two couldn’t move, rooted to the sofa, mouths slack with fear.

  Manley dragged them to the middle of the room, cuffed them with relish and laughed as the men began their protests. He laughed again when he realised that Andrew Falkirk must be upstairs, being filmed.

  ‘Got you now, Falkirk,’ he yelled at the ceiling, spinning the last one around and pushing him to the end of the line. ‘You won’t get a clever barrister to overturn this conviction.’ He grinned, ‘You won’t terrify the witness into withdrawing their statement this time, you sick shit.’ He stopped and eyed all four men, now standing silent in a terrified row. He realised that the other members of his team were uncomfortable with his outburst, but he didn’t care. He felt jubilant.

  ‘You couldn’t pick this lot out in a paedo parade, could you?’ He looked at the PC guarding the door. ‘They look so normal. Makes it worse, somehow, that they could be someone’s dad or husband. Let’s get the bastards locked up. Collect all their belongings.’

  He turned to the other officer. ‘PC Salter,’ he said, ‘call for one of the vans. It’ll be a long night in the cells for this lot, and then a nice stretch at Her Majesty’s pleasure.’

  In the upstairs bedroom, the situation was different. Lake peered through the narrow gap the boy had left. A little girl was on the bed with a large, jowly man whom they took to be Andrew Falkirk. The blonde woman, Irina Akis, was leaning over the side of the bed, holding the naked child still. A film camera was balanced on a tripod next to her. He could just see the bare leg of one of the older girls, perched on a tapestry cushion, and in front of her, the wailing boy. Irina shouted over her shoulder for Grigor, but her voice died in her throat as the door slammed open and the barrel of a gun came through it. The man on the bed cowered away, covering his nakedness and shrivelling erection with a lace cushion.

  Irina acted instantly, and in her own interest. She dropped the little girl, picked up the movie camera and threw it as hard as she could at the door, crashing it shut onto Lake’s hand. Then she slipped into the bathroom and out through the casement window onto the eaves. Pressing herself flat, she slid down through the shadows at the rear of the house.

  In the yard, DC Sam Knowles had jumped into the driver’s seat and started the engine of the Mercedes van, intending to drive it to the Station for forensic examination. He was trying to put it into reverse when his door was wrenched open and he was dragged by his hair from the seat. Irina was in the car and had slammed the door shut before he could even raise a shout.

  Sam scrambled to his feet and ran to stand in front of the van, waving his arms and yelling to attract attention.

  ‘Stop!’ he yelled at Irina. Then, wildly, ‘Someone stop her. She can’t get away!’

  In the attic bedroom, Garrett barked orders at Team 3.

  Officers ran from the fields towards the revving Mercedes.

  ‘What the hell is she trying to do?’ Sam screamed.

  What Irina was doing was taking the initiative, thought Garrett, as he saw her make a tight reversing left turn that took the front side panel off the Mercedes on the rear bumper of a parked car. She drove straight through the hedge, scattering Team 3 and forcing the van into a sharp left as she bumped her way over the ploughed field towards the lane. Sam could hear the DVDs sliding around in the back of the van and slamming against the sides.

  ‘She’s getting away,’ he wailed, his anguish clear in his voice.

  Garrett barked at sniper Two, ‘Suspect escaping in black van. Take out her tyres. I repeat, disable the vehicle. DC Knowles, get a grip, man. You’re not helping by stating the obvious.’

  Irina judged the low stone wall in front of her. If she could smash her way through it, she could be gone before they were even in their cars. She accelerated towards the wall and was thrown hard against the steering wheel as the front of the van buckled against the ancient granite. She reversed and went again, and again. After the third ramming, enough wall collapsed to let her roll over the top of the rubble, engine roaring. She turned a crazily sharp left and felt the back tyre blow as she straightened up. She fought to control the steering as the DVDs and the loose recorders smashed against the van wall. She wasn’t stopping for anybody. This was her last trip. She was going to Sweden to be with her child. She renewed her efforts to control the veering van and get out onto the lane.

  Stuck in the small attic bedroom, Oliver remembered that Dan and Sally were on their way.

  She rang Sally.

  ‘Yes Ma’am?’ came the calm voice.

  ‘Where are you?’ Oliver shook. She could see the Merc breaking through the wall and turning onto the lane.

  ‘Almost there, I can see the Farmer’s place. What’s happening?’

  ‘Sally,’ Oliver shouted. ‘Get out of the car, now!’ Sally stared at the phone and up the lane. Dan looked over at her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oliver says we have to...’

  At that moment the battered van came barrelling towards them, swerving across the lane on blown tyres and smacking into the hedges like a drunk in a pub toilet. Dan reacted on impulse. He braked, slapped the seatbelt holders and pushed Sally out of her door. Then, he slewed the car sideways across the lane and threw himself out of the passenger door as the Mercedes ploughed into the driver’s side of the Audi.

  Oliver watched from the window. She screamed a helpless ‘No!’ as she saw what Hellier had done.

  Garrett didn’t react. He was still watching the van. He saw the door open and a slight figure stagger out and limp off across the field. ‘She’s still alive, Ma’am. She’s going to try to run for it. Just give the order.’

  Oliver didn’t hesitate. How could this foreign bitch come into her city and hurt children and hurt her people?

  ‘Shoot her, Tom.’

  Sniper One took two shots to bring her down. One to the thigh, and one to the shoulder. She limped another six feet before her knees buckled and she dropped.

  Garrett yelled. ‘Get out there and arrest her, Team 3. Don’t hang about for Christ’s sake!’

  Bennett and Larcombe were first on the lane. They abandoned their patrol cars and ran. When they reached the crash site there was nowhere to pass. The wreckage of the van and the destroyed Audi filled the entire lane. Bennett picked up a piece of the Mercedes’ offside panel and used it to break open a hole in the hedge large enough to let them squeeze through. The scene on the other side was a disaster.

  Bill Larcombe would say later he felt his heart stop when he saw Sally Ellis lying on the ground a few metres away.

  He groaned, ‘No, not Sally. Not her as well.’

  He knelt beside her and felt for a pulse. To his relief it was strong, but she was bleeding from a wound on the back of her head. Had probably knocked herself out. He took off his jacket and used it to cradle her head. Sally opened her eyes slowly.

  ‘I’ve been having such a weird dream,’ she said to him, her voice high
and shaky. ‘Why am I lying on the ground?’

  ‘You’ve just had a little car accident. Don’t worry, soon get you sorted out.’ He rang Oliver and gave her the good news before he rang 999. Then he stood and looked round for Ben. And where was the Boss?

  The force of the Mercedes hitting the Audi had not been so very great. The van was hardly under control and could not have accelerated much. However, it had been moving fast enough to destroy the driver’s side of the car and shunt it into the hedge.

  Dan was lying at the side of the road, his legs trapped under the passenger-side door. He hadn’t quite made it. He was stroking what was left of the bonnet. His beautiful car, ruined. Ben Bennett was standing next to him, watching the tears slip down his boss’s face.

  ‘I think you might have a bit of concussion, Boss,’ he was saying, ‘it’s only a car.’

  Chapter 37

  Date: Wednesday 25th April Time: 22.13 Exeter Road Police Station

  DC Sam Knowles sat on a chair in the corner, watching the Sergeant processing the men arrested at the scene. Superintendent Oliver had asked him to oversee the process, and to come back up to the main office once they were all safely locked up for the night. It was too late to do anything other than charge them and put them in a cell, but Sam was happy with that.

  Colin White had agreed to take an extra shift to charge the men and sent one of the night-shift boys to the Hospital to guard the woman.

  ‘How you doing, Sam?’ he asked.

  Sam winced. He was in quite a lot of pain where the Latvian mad woman had yanked out a lump of hair and some of his scalp, but he was bearing his injuries stoically.

  ‘I’m alright, Sarge, thanks for asking.’

  ‘Only you’re looking a bit peaky, lad. Were you OK out there?’

  Sam nodded. ‘Yeah, it was quite exciting, actually. 'Specially when the Snipers took out the foreign woman - hoo wee!’

  He’d been out in the field and done well, apart from the embarrassing bit where he may have got a bit upset.

  Lizzie popped down with a mug of tea and smiled at him.

  ‘You’ll need to be de-briefed before you go home, Sam,’ she said. That felt good, too.

  ‘And how was the new boss out in the field?’ asked Colin.

  Sam contemplated Inspector Hellier’s heroics and shook his head in wonderment. The man was a maniac. ‘You know, Sarge, he looks a bit wimpy, but there are balls of steel under that smooth exterior. He was brilliant, saved the day.’

  And a shooting, too. What a night.

  The area car dropped Dan off at the front entrance to the Station. He had sent Sally home once they had escaped from the hospital. She had concussion and wasn’t making much sense. He touched the plaster on the front of his forehead as he limped his way to the main office on throbbing stockinged feet. He figured he would live. He was thankful that it was very late and there were few people around. He couldn’t have explained the depth of his tiredness, if he’d tried.

  He could hear raised voices as he drew near the Interview Rooms. The angry tones of Alan Braithwaite were easy to identify through the walls. Dan looked through the window. Jenna was sitting hunched on a chair, turned away from the table, playing with a lock of hair and humming to herself. Stoned, he guessed.

  Alan Braithwaite was arguing with Bill Larcombe and Lizzie Singh. The other person in the room was, Dan supposed, a social worker. He sighed. He’d wanted a few minutes to gather himself before this confrontation.

  Braithwaite swung round as Dan entered the room and lurched towards him.

  ‘Been drinking, Mr Braithwaite?’ Dan asked and dodged round him, making for a chair on the other side of the table. The guy was intimidating enough when he was sober, There was no way Dan was going to stand up to him in a confined space, when he was drunk. And with feet that resembled tenderised steak, he wasn’t getting into a fight with anybody.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down and tell me what’s happening?’ He nodded to the other officers. Larcombe moved to stand next to the door, and Lizzie took the other empty seat next to Jenna. Braithwaite didn’t move. He swayed backwards and forwards as if he was on a ship.

  The social worker attempted to speak but Braithwaite went straight over her. ‘Why is my daughter here? Why won’t you tell me what’s going on? Why can’t I take her home with me?’

  Larcombe looked over at Dan and shrugged. He hadn’t been able to get anywhere.

  ‘Ok, this is what we do,’ Dan said. ‘Lizzie, take Jenna and the social worker next door and make them a drink. Jenna may want a snack or something, too. Then Mr Braithwaite and I can have a proper chat.’

  As Dan spoke, Braithwaite moved towards the table and leaned on it, glowering over him.

  ‘Would you like a coffee, too?’ Dan asked, and looked up into Braithwaite’s face. ‘Have a seat, Mr Braithwaite. I’ll explain what has happened to your daughter, I promise. No messing about.’ He gestured towards a chair and waited for Braithwaite to sit.

  The girl left the room with her head down, led by Lizzie Singh and the social worker.

  Dan allowed Braithwaite time to sort himself out while he tried to find a way to tell this bereaved father what he suspected his youngest daughter had done. He wished Sally hadn’t been injured, she was so good at this stuff.

  Braithwaite leant back in his chair. He’d folded his arms across his chest and crossed one leg over the other thigh. His foot banged a regular angry rhythm against the metal leg of the chair.

  ‘First, can you tell me how Jed Abrams came to know your two girls?’

  Braithwaite looked up under his black fringe. ‘Youth group they go to.’

  ‘Not the singing competition?’

  ‘Nah, that was done at Christmas. They’ve been going since last September on a Thursday night.’ He paused. ‘Jenna’s been going on a Wednesday, too, sometimes.’ He put his head in his hands. ‘This is to do with Jed Abrams, isn’t it? I should have got the slimy bastard when I had the chance. I always knew there was something wrong about him.’

  Dan watched the colour rise in the man’s cheeks as his voice got louder and harsher. He realised he was too tired to do this diplomatically.

  ‘Mr Braithwaite, I wish I could make this easier, but I can’t. Jenna has been the victim of child abuse. Possibly not Abrams himself, but men he knew.’

  Alan Braithwaite stopped in confusion. He didn’t see the mug of coffee placed beside him, or register that Bill Larcombe had taken up his position once more near the door. He stared at Dan, his eyes angry and shocked.

  ‘What do you mean? How?’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘No. I’d know. I’m her father. I’d know if something was wrong.’ He looked across at Dan again. ‘It’s not true. You’ve got the wrong girl.’ He stood. ‘You’ve made a terrible mistake, mate. I’ll just collect Jenna and we’ll go. It’s late and she needs to get to bed.’ He turned and made for the door.

  ‘Mr Braithwaite, you have to listen to me.’ Dan rose, too. ‘We have just brought Jenna back from a house where my officers witnessed a younger child being abused. Jenna was in the room, too, Mr Braithwaite. Jenna had taken three other children with her to that house. She wasn’t at Maddie’s for tea. She went to Jed Abram’s house, knowing what would happen there.’ He raised his voice. ‘Please sit down. There is more I have to tell you.’

  Braithwaite looked longingly at the door. ‘I don’t want to hear any more crap talked about Jenna.’

  ‘There is another reason why I can’t let you take your daughter home tonight.’ Braithwaite turned and stared. ‘What? What’s worse than this?’

  Dan took a breath and blew it out through his lips. He couldn’t think how to make this one easier either, ‘This afternoon, an eye witness said they saw Jenna strangle Carly on Sunday at your house.’

  Braithwaite coughed out an incredulous moan. ‘What? What? Who said it?’

  Dan ignored the question. ‘We have to investigate that alleg
ation. We have to keep Jenna in custody tonight. But she won’t be here in the station. We’ll take her to a secure Children’s home. She’ll be quite safe, I assure you.’

  Braithwaite had buckled back onto the chair at the mention of Carly’s murder. He fixed on a spot above Dan’s head and didn’t move. The room fell silent.

  Dan glanced across at Bill Larcombe. The Sergeant shrugged. This kind of news took people in different ways.

  ‘It is just an allegation Mr Braithwaite, but we have to investigate. You do understand that?’

  ‘Can I get someone to give you a lift home?’ Dan suggested. Braithwaite didn’t move. ‘Maybe you would like to see Jenna before you go? You can spend some more time with her tomorrow. We all need to get some sleep.’ Still no response. Dan pushed on. ‘Sergeant Larcombe will get one of the patrol cars to pop back to the station and give you a lift home.’

  Larcombe rose and took Braithwaite’s arm to lift him out of the chair. ‘Come on, chum,’ he said, ‘no point in you hanging round here. We’ll make sure Jenna is safe tonight.’

  ‘Can you get the victim support woman on the phone and ask her to go round first thing tomorrow? She can bring him in.’ Larcombe nodded and guided Braithwaite out.

  Dan stood for a few minutes in the empty room, and swallowed two painkillers with the neglected mug of lukewarm coffee. His head hurt. The whole of his left side hurt. His feet and ankles hurt where he’d been pulled out from under the crushed wreck of his car. He was beyond exhausted. He didn’t know how a person was supposed to react to the kind of news Braithwaite had just received, but what amounted to a catatonic trance seemed appropriate in the circumstances.

  Forcing his body to respond, he limped to the adjoining room for his last task of the night. He smiled wearily at the duty solicitor as he followed him into the room.

  There was no defiance left in Jenna Braithwaite’s eyes. She looked like a thirteen year-old kid who had been caught doing something wrong, knees up to her chest, arms wrapped protectively around them, eyes huge in the pale face, holding onto Lizzie Singh’s hand.