CXVI The Beginning of the End (Book 1): A Gripping Murder Mystery and Suspense Thriller (CXVI BOOK 1)

by Angie Smith

  “Maria!” Woods shouted. But she was not listening and did not intend stopping. She disappeared out of the door, ran across to the staircase and raced down the stairs. When she reached the ground floor entrance foyer she ran at the doors, banging them open, and nearly tripped over the kerb that defined the edge of the car park. Undeterred she headed for the pool car, jumped in and fired up the engine. She threw her coat in the back and glanced around the vehicle. “Damn,” she said, realising she’d left her bag in the Incident Room. Frustrated, she floored the accelerator pedal and the car screeched off. She headed for the exit and as she swung to line up with the opening Woods appeared in front of the car. Bang! His fists hit the bonnet when the car shuddered to a halt centimetres away from him. As he leaned on the car he looked straight through the windscreen. She noticed he was struggling to breathe. He’d obviously chased after her.

  “Get in!” she screamed. For a split second she considered driving off the moment he moved out of the way, but she remained stationary and waited for him to climb in. “Don’t ever do that to me again,” she snapped. “I could have killed you.” She pressed her foot back down on the accelerator pedal and the car shot out onto the main road.

  “Why wouldn’t you wait for me?” asked Woods, struggling to catch his breath and fasten the seatbelt.

  “I haven’t got time for this,” she shouted as the car built up speed. “I need to concentrate.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Manchester.”

  “What!”

  “Albion Bedford’s office.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Maria! It will take us too long; we’ll need to get the local police over there now.”

  “No we do not,” she hissed. “We want Williams alive. Besides, I can drive really fast, and, unlike you, I’m safe.”

  “Don’t tell me.”

  She grinned. “Got it in one.”

  “Are you sure it’s Bedford’s office?” he asked, his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead.

  “When I met with him I studied the certificates on his wall. One had an imperfection in its frame, that’s what I saw on the big screen. Plus, his desk had been pushed back out of the way, but you could see the impression in the carpet.” She glanced in her mirror. “Have you got your phone?”

  “Look out!” he shouted as a taxi pulled across in front of them.

  She changed down and floored the accelerator, swerving around the obstacle, avoiding a collision. The taxi tooted with annoyance. “Well? Have you got your phone?” she repeated calmly, as though nothing had happened.

  Woods nodded as he pressed his feet into the footwell and pushed his body as far back into the seat as he could.

  “Turn it off,” she ordered, again glancing in the mirror.

  He looked perplexed, but complied. “What if we need backup?”

  “I still have the unregistered phone and new sim, but I doubt we’ll need them.”

  “Watch the bus!” He grabbed the edge of her seat.

  She veered around it. “Please stop it. I’m driving, not you. I’d seen it.”

  “We need a right at the next roundabout,” he said, pointing at the road sign.

  “We’re going left on the motorway, not right, then off at 37 and over Woodhead.”

  “That’ll take forever.”

  She screeched to a stop. “Get out!”

  He looked bewildered.

  “You have a choice; get out, or be quiet. What’s it going to be?”

  “It’s quicker on the M62. I’m just trying to help.”

  “Get out,” she barked. “On the motorway it’s harder to know if you’re being followed. Plus, in three lanes of queueing traffic, which there inevitably is on the M62, you don’t have the option of breaking the speed limit. And this is the most direct route.”

  “I’ll be quiet.”

  “Good!” she said, speeding off.

  He remained silent for less than ninety seconds. “We’ll definitely need backup when we arrive; Williams is armed,” he said as she was heading up the slip-road.

  She sighed. “Which part of be quiet are you having difficulty with?”

  “I’m thinking ahead.”

  “Do you have any mace?”

  He shook his head.

  “I’ve left mine in my bag. We need a plan.”

  “Maria, we’re not going in without armed officers.”

  “Yes we are. When we arrive we’ll creep stealth-like up to the door. Then you crash through it with all your might, making as much noise as you can, and immediately roll down on the floor, heading for Plant who’s at the right-hand side of the room. You can use him as a human shield. I’ll be right behind you with the car jack and as Williams is concentrating on you, I’ll disarm him.”

  Woods rolled his eyes. “I don’t want this to be the day that we both die.”

  “I’ll sketch you a plan of the room so you’ll have an idea of the layout and I’ll mark where I think Williams is either sitting or standing.”

  “Something about protocols,” Woods said.

  “Don’t you ever break the rules?”

  He laughed. “Since meeting you I’ve done nothing else but break the rules.”

  “So we break a few more and we get Williams alive.”

  He didn’t reply and to her relief he remained silent. Once they were off the motorway and heading out of Penistone along the A628 she kept watching her mirrors. “Damn. We’ve got company,” she said.

  Woods spun round to look out of the rear window.

  “It’s the guys in the black Quattroporte. I thought it was them on the motorway, but they were well back, I couldn’t be sure. That’s the problem with motorway driving.”

  “We can’t outrun them in this,” Woods observed.

  “No, but we can outsmart them.” She accelerated hard. “Wait until we’re heading down to the side of the reservoir. Then I’ll show you how to drive.”

  Woods kept watch at the rear as she sped over the top of the moors and started the descent. “They’re keeping up with us, but hanging back,” he updated.

  “Excellent, it’s not far now. After the next few bends there’s a gravelled parking area on the right. I’m going to swing in, spin the car and wait out of sight up near the banking. You’ll need to climb in the back and sit behind me. When they appear, the fun starts.”

  “What are you planning?”

  “We’re here!” She changed down, accelerated, spinning the steering wheel and grabbing the handbrake. The car screeched off the road and into the parking area. She slammed it in reverse and shot back up towards the over-crop of mined earth, skidding to a halt. “Get in the back!”

  Woods clambered ungainly over and somehow managed to seat himself directly behind her. He watched the Maserati go past on the main road and immediately Barnes went after it. As she got closer to the vehicle the driver slowed, realising his prey had become his pursuer.

  “Hold on!” she yelled as she got within millimetres of the Maserati’s rear.

  Woods grabbed the back of her seat to steady himself. “What now?”

  “Brace!” she cried, dropping a gear and accelerating hard. She swerved out first, as though overtaking, and then deliberately swung back in, clipping the rear corner of the Maserati. BANG! She gritted her teeth and kept her foot planted firmly on the accelerator as the car ploughed on and the Maserati swayed first to the left and then to the right. She remained in close contact, assisting with its momentum as the rear wheel dug in and it became airborne. She finally hit the brakes and skidded to a standstill as the other vehicle left the road and careered through the crumbling stone wall and down the rough terrain towards the reservoir.

  Woods clambered back into the passenger seat. “We need to ring an ambulance.”

  “Do you think they’d ring if it was us? We need to get to Albion Bedford’s undetected.” She drove on as Woods peered over the remnants of the wall at what remained of the Maserati.

  During the rest of t
he journey he appeared subdued and Barnes worried the incident had unsettled him. She thought long and hard before speaking. “They don’t give a toss about anything. They think they’re above the law. They treat the police as though we’re a bunch of numpties. Look at Faulkner-Brown - I bet my IQ’s quadruple his.”

  Woods did not respond.

  “I know we broke the rules back there, but needs must. I’m sorry.”

  He shuffled slightly around in his seat and looked her. “Why is it that I always feel the subordinate, and that you are the one in charge?” He sounded hurt. “Do you consider me to be a numpty?”

  The question threw her; it was as unexpected as a proposal of marriage from him. She took a moment to dissect it. “Of course not… No…! Never…!”

  He remained silent.

  “I have nothing but respect for you. You’re one of the very few men I have ever trusted.” She glanced across, noticing him nonchalantly looking out of the window, as though her words had been meaningless. “My problem is I become so focused that I steamroll on regardless. You’re definitely the one in charge.” She glanced across again, but still it was as though he wasn’t listening. “If you think we should do things differently tell me what you want to change.”

  He finally looked at her. “I don’t want to change anything. That’s the problem,” he said. “You’ve got everything covered. I suppose I’m not used to people being smarter than me.”

  “I’ve never considered myself as being… My swipe at Faulkner-Brown wasn’t aimed at you. I hold you in high regard, whereas Faulkner-Brown, to use your words, is a complete arsehole.”

  He laughed. “Now you really are getting used to my sense of humour.”

  She couldn’t help grinning. “We’re nearly there. It’s just down here on the right.” She indicated, swung the car into a side street and pulled up. “Are you sure you don’t want to change anything?” she asked again.

  He nodded.

  She quickly drew a layout of Bedford’s office and allowed him to familiarise himself with it. “We’ll go in through the back entrance; I know the code.”

  “I won’t ask how.”

  She thought about explaining, but decided against it. When she’d last exited the building she’d noticed four of the keypad numbers were clean, giving a maximum of twenty-four permutations, and on trying the first one — the numbers in ascending order — she’d discovered that to be the correct code.

  “Which building is it?” Woods asked, looking at the long line of Victorian terraced properties.

  She pointed across the road four doors down. “Where the white Transit’s parked. A recruitment agency has the ground floor; Bedford’s office is on the first. I’m not expecting anyone else to be in the building at this time of day.”

  He acknowledged the comment. “Come on, get the car jack,” he said.

  They jumped out and she opened the boot. She lifted up the spare wheel, unclipped the jack and grabbed it. “Do you want to call for backup?”

  He smiled. “Let’s do this on our own.”

  At 7.55 p.m. they crossed the road; it was a quiet Sunday evening and virtually deserted, with only the occasional vehicle driving past the junction at the opposite end to where they had parked. They quickly made for the Transit and Barnes crept down the side of it, arriving at the rear of the property first. She paused while Woods checked the surrounding area. He nodded a go-ahead and she keyed 2467 in on the door lock. She carefully opened it and they tip-toed in; she pointed him in the direction of the staircase.

  Just at that moment they heard a noise which appeared to have come from the basement. “What was that?” Woods mouthed, stepping back into the shadows of an alcove.

  She joined him and they both stood motionless, listening intently. After several seconds of silence Woods gently tapped her on the shoulder. “Probably the central heating boiler,” he said quietly. “Let’s go.”

  “Top of the stairs, first door on the right, brass plaque,” she whispered.

  They ascended the stairs in silence, arriving on the landing.

  Woods looked around. “Ready?” he mouthed.

  She nodded.

  Woods went to the far end of the landing as she stood to the side, holding the car jack firmly in her right hand. He ran and hurled himself at the door. The crack of splintering timber around the lock, combined with the thud of him colliding with the door echoed down the staircase. He crashed into the room yelling, “Police! Get down! Get down! Get down!”

  Barnes ran in behind him and as he rolled to the right she made to the left. Williams clutched an ACP45 semi-automatic pistol and was aiming at Woods who was on the floor heading towards Plant. She raised her right arm and, using all her strength, lunged at Williams’ head.

  The blow sent him crumbling to the floor, but he had discharged his weapon. She froze when she heard the thud of the bullet leaving the silencer.

  Woods groaned in pain, but his momentum kept him moving and he ended up alongside Plant’s chair. He put his left hand to the wound in his right shoulder as he kicked the drip-stand over and the demijohn crashed to the floor. It didn’t break, but the contents would no longer be discharging on to Plant’s forearm.

  Barnes, who’d realised Woods was injured, dived on the floor and grabbed the gun Williams had dropped. She jumped up, quickly switched off the power on the recording camera and trained the weapon on Williams; he was down, dazed and trying to stem the flow of blood from the gash on the side of his head.

  “Are you alright?” she called to Woods as she backed towards him, not taking her eyes off Williams.

  “Can you untie me?” Guilford-Johnston pleaded.

  She turned the gun on him. “Don’t utter another word, you spineless snake. You’ve said enough.”

  Guilford-Johnston nodded apologetically, as though he understood her anger.

  She refocused the gun on Williams and bent down as she backed up to Woods. “Are you alright?” she asked him again.

  “It’s my shoulder… I’m losing a lot of blood… I think the bullet went straight through.”

  “Ring for an ambulance,” Plant called. “We both need medical attention.”

  “I do not take orders from you!” Barnes snapped.

  “No, you take them from me,” Woods said. “Ring for backup, Maria. We’ve got Williams alive. It’s over; this is the end.”

  “This isn’t the end,” Williams announced, getting to his feet. “This is the beginning of the end.”

  Barnes stood and, gripping the gun in her right hand, fished her phone out of her pocket with the other.

  “Don’t ring anyone,” Williams said. “You know what they’ll do. I’ve still got so much to put right.”

  She looked him over. Something about him was familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. He was definitely different from the picture Bedford had given her. She was troubled by it. “We’ll make sure they can’t get to you,” she said. “Besides, Dudley’s on the run, and Faulkner-Brown’s gone missing.”

  “They know the game’s up. They’ve left Plant here to face the music alone. But the authorities will want me silenced, and they’ll find a way of doing it.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Plant said. “Do as Woods ordered, call for backup.”

  “Maria, you’re intelligent enough to know who the real criminals are in here,” Williams prompted.

  “You’re all as bad as each other.” She glanced at Woods who was pressuring his wound, but blood was seeping through his hand. He looked in a bad way; she needed to act fast. “We uphold the law. You lot think you are above it,” she replied quickly, thumbing through the numbers in her contact list.

  “No-one is above the law; what I’m doing will bring the unpunished down. Look at him.” He pointed at Guilford-Johnston, who was perspiring profusely. “He’s the worst kind of all; he gets someone else to pull the trigger, while he hides in his government office surrounded by his aides. He’s no better than Faulkner-Brown.
At least Plant gets his hands dirty.”

  “Like I said, you’re all as bad as each other.” She glanced at her phone; the number she needed was there.

  “Listen, the killings are over; they were an unfortunate necessity, to get the story on the front pages. . .”

  “An unfortunate necessity!” she exclaimed, refocusing on Williams. “Is that how Faulkner-Brown described the murder of your family?”

  Williams locked his stare on her. “You’re going to give me the gun, Maria, and I’m going to walk out of here.”

  “You are so wrong,” she replied. “I understand some of what you have done, but having all your family murdered doesn’t justify taking the lives of seven innocent people.”

  “I didn’t have all my family murdered,” he corrected. “I’m surprised you haven’t worked it out.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My paternal father is still alive, and he has a son and daughter, both of whom are exceptionally talented, highly intelligent, multi-linguists, with photographic memories and skills most people can only dream about. Does that remind you of anyone?”

  She paused and shrugged involuntarily.

  “Think about it!”

  Perplexed, she shook her head.

  “Maria, I’m your brother - we share the same father.”

  Uncharacteristically, she wrestled with her response. “No, you can’t be!”

  “Yes I can. Your father dated my mother; they were childhood sweethearts. I’m the result of their first sexual experience.”

  “He’s lying,” Plant said. “He’s trying to trick you and draw your attention elsewhere. He’ll jump you and grab the gun. It’s textbook.”

  “Be quiet,” she snapped, trying to comprehend Williams’ words.

  “For God’s sake, either ring the police or shoot him,” Guilford-Johnston blurted out.

  “Be quiet, Arsehole,” she hissed. She knew things were getting out of hand; she glared at Guilford-Johnston. “If you speak again it’ll be you that gets the next bullet, not him.”

  “I’m not lying, Maria,” Williams continued. “You can ask your father. I wouldn’t trick you.”

  As she struggled with the concept of the assertion he moved slowly towards her.