Open Grave

  ‘There’s Tank,’ Watkins said, cutting through his thoughts.

  The unmistakable hulk of McGuinness’s right-hand man had come out of the shop, looking up and down the street.

  Looks nervous, Jack thought.

  ‘Get ready.’

  Arnold ‘Tank’ Mohan moved from the front of the shop, his black bomber jacket and hat making him look like a stereotypical cartoon burglar. He stopped in the centre of the street, looking left and right once more. Jack’s fist clenched as he looked over to their direction and paused. They paused too, wondering whether or not he had seen them. There was no reaction from Tank. He moved on. A second man appeared from the opposite side of the street. Jack couldn’t make out his features in the shadows, but he looked slender and stood almost a foot taller than his companion.

  ‘Want me to call backup?’ Watkins whispered.

  ‘Now who’s on edge? No, we don’t know what they’re up to yet.’

  They didn’t have to wait long. A white transit van with heavily-rusted wheel arches parked up by the two men. Tank saw the vehicle and motioned to his silent partner. Moments later, they slipped out of view as the van moved in front of their position. Jack turned the ignition as both men hopped into the side of the van.

  ‘Here we go.’

  There were at least three men in the van. Jack hadn’t managed to see the driver as he came past, but they had to assume they were outnumbered by one. At least.

  He kept the car to a safe distance as the Transit weaved in and out of Newcastle’s evening traffic. Whatever they were doing, they weren’t taking much care with the speed limit. He resisted the urge to pull them over. Something bigger than going thirty-five in a thirty zone was occurring here. Still, he didn’t call backup.

  Drunk youths lined the streets, queuing up to sample the North East nightlife. Back when Jack was a young bobby, he’d venture to these parts of the city with Louise. Times had changed now, though. Looking at their attire, he couldn’t believe how brave the women were, most of them wearing shorts that looked more like skimpy underwear. He changed his mind. Stupid, not brave.

  Continuing their pursuit, they followed the van onto the dual carriageway. Old, pock-marked tarmac stood between them and their prey, causing the car to judder as its speed increased. They weren’t hanging about. Jack could feel a spike in his adrenaline.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ Watkins mumbled.

  They followed the van as it made its way further up the motorway, heading north towards Jedburgh. Jack hoped their trip wouldn’t take them that far. Although he had fond memories of his grandparents taking him and his brother to their caravan up there, he had leftover lasagne waiting for him in the house once he got back.

  Up ahead, the Transit made a left turn down a side junction. Jack slowed, allowing the distance to grow; with fewer cars on the road they’d be a lot more visible.

  Every bone in his body seemed to jar as they followed the van into the dark woodland. Conscious of the danger of being seen, Jack cut the headlights, slowing to compensate for the night that now surrounded them. His instincts told him this was a bad idea, but they couldn’t leave now.

  ‘What’s down here?’ Watkins asked, bringing a hand up to wipe condensation from the windscreen.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Jack replied. ‘But I don’t like it.’

  A right turn in the road signalled the end of the mud track. From a fair way back, Jack could see the van’s lights cut out after it parked up outside what looked like an abandoned factory. Trees lined the path on either side. The lack of lights in their environment added to the uncomfortable feeling Jack was now experiencing.

  ‘Do we follow?’

  Jack paused, then shook his head.

  He pulled the car to the side of the road, keeping a safe distance from their new friends. Fumbling in his pocket, he brought out a stick of chewing gum and threw it into his mouth, the urge to light up a cigarette almost overwhelming.

  Moments later, Tank exited the van, flashlight in tow. The tall stranger got out as well. Jack panicked, hoping Arnold wouldn’t point the light in their direction. The last thing they needed was to be caught out. Something told him that these blokes wouldn’t invite them in for tea and biscuits.

  The mysterious other man was still bathed in shadows. From the front of the van, Jack saw the driver get out, followed by another passenger. He couldn’t make out faces, but they looked male and they looked large.

  No one else seemed to be around. Tank’s flashlight bounced across the seemingly-abandoned building, never landing in one place. Whatever they were doing, they weren’t going straight in. They seemed to be talking. Jack squinted, wishing he’d thought to bring binoculars. Watkins rubbed his arm across the windscreen, once again, and squinted into the distance.

  ‘Can’t see a bastard thing,’ he moaned.

  ‘They’re just talking.’

  Tank was pointing his light at different parts of the building, gesticulating rather vigorously. The building was massive, with Jack making out what looked like three storeys. Even from this distance, he could tell it was a dive. Most of the windows were boarded up, and those that weren’t didn’t seem to have any glass in them. It probably hadn’t been used in years. Well, not legally anyway. Now it seemed that Dorian McGuinness had decided to bring it out of retirement. But for what? Drugs? Something worse?

  They were moving now... but not towards the factory. Motioning in the opposite direction, the four men disappeared into the woods, sporadic beams of light breaking through the shrubbery.

  ‘We following them?’ Watkins asked.

  Jack spat the already tasteless chewing gum into a tissue. ‘Not unless you want your balls chopped off.’

  ‘Well, what do you want to do then?’

  ‘Nothing. We’re leaving.’

  ‘You aren’t even going to call for backup?’

  Jack waved him away. ‘We struck lucky by finding this place. We need to take stock before we go running in. You never show all your cards at once,’ he told the DS. ‘I want to know what they’re playing at before I go in all guns blazing. And I don’t fancy getting my head smacked in right now. I know something bigger is going on here but if we play our hand we risk it unravelling before we catch them in the act. Besides, there’s nothing to say it’s linked to Liam Reed’s death at this point.’

  Watkins nodded in silent agreement.

  They backed the car up and turned it around before switching the headlights back on. The car would leave tracks, but he didn’t have time to worry about that now. Best to get away leaving a clue than be caught out.

  One thing was for sure; McGuinness was up to something. The boys at the Aquatic store had moved the first pawn.

  ‘Come on,’ Jack said, heading back towards the city. ‘I’ll treat you to a McDonald’s. In the meantime, pass me one of those doughnuts, will you?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He manoeuvred across the lanes, using one hand to throw back what had to be the most sugary doughnut he’d ever tasted. The lasagne – and diet – could wait. Despite the sweet sensation, he couldn’t shake the bitter taste in the back of his throat. McGuinness was up to something.

  17

  ‘Alright, settle down!’

  The noise shrivelled to a barely perceptible hum. One stern look later and the room fell silent. He’d been in a reasonable mood on the way into work, even stopping to inhale a bacon sandwich with extra sauce, until Edwards had gotten hold of him.

  ‘Are we going to start actually solving some cases soon, DCI Lambert?’ he’d shouted.

  ‘We’re working on a number of leads.’

  ‘Oh, are we now?’ he cut in. ‘Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like fuck all is getting done. Perhaps you have too much on your plate?’

  Jack bit his tongue and held his gaze firmly on the DSI.

  Edwards cleared his throat. ‘Where are we on the Open Grave Murderer?’

  ‘We have officers speaking to the immediate
family members of the second killings, as we speak. We thought we had a suspect but—’

  ‘Yes, the barman. Worked out well, didn’t it? And where are we on the Liam Reed murder?’

  ‘It’s clear Dorian McGuinness is involved in some way. The pieces haven’t fallen into place – yet – but we are seeing some movement.’

  The DSI looked almost disappointed. ‘What about the stalker case?’

  ‘Nell Stevens?’

  ‘No, Simon Cowell. Of course, Nell Stevens!’ he thundered.

  ‘DS Watkins is taking the lead on that one.’

  ‘I don’t want Watkins taking the lead. That man couldn’t find his arse with bog roll and a road map. The press are squeezing us on this and I want something sorted soon. If you can’t do it, I’ll find someone else who can.’

  Jack stood up and leaned over the desk. ‘Don’t think just because we’ve known each other for years that I will sit here and have my professionalism questioned by you.’ He jabbed a finger at the DSI. ‘If you’re not careful, somebody will eventually make a complaint about your attitude and you’ll have nobody left to fight your corner.’

  Edwards looked as if he was about to burst. ‘Is that a threat?’

  ‘Call it whatever you want, Logan,’ he said, turning to leave. ‘Oh, and don’t ever speak about one of my team like that again.’

  * * *

  The image of DI Jane Russell, sitting in the front row, brought him back to the present. Having the Bulldog taking over his caseload was not something he was willing to entertain. They needed results quickly.

  ‘Okay, let’s get started,’ he said.

  He turned to the huge whiteboard he’d managed to commandeer, writing key notes down one side. It was a trick he’d learned from a cousin of his who was a lecturer. Apparently, it helped give focus to a discussion. The board itself was split into three different sections, with photos in the centre of each one; Liam Reed, the four Open Grave victims and Nell Stevens – fully clothed, much to the disappointment of Watkins.

  ‘We can start with the Open Grave murders,’ he said, pointing to the images. ‘We have an ID on all four suspects. What we don’t yet have is a connection between them. Find the connection, find the killer,’ he said, pointing out the obvious. ‘DC Gerrard, would you care to update the room on your progress.’

  The young officer sprang into action. ‘We have been following up leads on the second murders, speaking to family members and close friends. So far, we haven’t got a link or known motive. We haven’t finished our enquiries yet, but – unless something else comes up soon – we’ll be at a loose end.’

  Jack chewed it over. Something else meant more bodies. Something they couldn’t afford.

  ‘Thanks, Claire. I’ve been speaking to DI Russell and we both agree that finding a link between the victims knowing each other may be off the mark. Right now, I want to know what else might connect them, be it a place or event. I believe we need to consider how the killer knows them, not how they know each other.’

  Jane Russell gave a curt nod.

  ‘Now, on to Liam Reed.’

  Jack and Watkins spent the next ten minutes updating the group on the key events in the case so far. With the advent of having found the abandoned factory, Jack thought it prudent to bring in the rest of the team. Of course, there was the possibility that it wasn’t linked to Liam Reed’s murder, but coincidences weren’t something experience had taught him to ignore. Plus, whatever it was, he would bet his last penny on it being outside the law.

  ‘Now, with regards to Nell Stevens...’ Watkins began.

  Jack took a seat, noting a faint wolf-whistle as he turned his back to the room. Watkins tugged at his collar, the familiar red flush appearing on his freckled face.

  ‘We’ve had a potential development,’ he continued. ‘Builders, who were working on a conservatory for a local celeb across the road, noticed a bloke hanging about near her house, camera in hand, yesterday.’

  ‘Regular paps?’ DC Gerrard asked.

  Watkins shrugged. ‘Possibly, but I think we need to consider surveillance on the house, just in case.’

  More overtime for Edwards to grumble about.

  Jack watched the various officers slump from the room as he broke up the meeting. Morale was low, and he didn’t blame them. He placed his palm against his forehead, sighed, and leaned back against the desk. The lack of progress on all of their cases was worrying. They needed to move fast. The problem was, he didn’t know where to start.

  ‘What’s the next step then, boss?’ Watkins asked.

  Jack looked to the whiteboard, and stroked his stubbled chin, noting that it was now becoming more of a beard. ‘We find that drug dealer Peter Rutherford owed money to.’

  ‘You think it’s related?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘That’s what I need to find out. I want a name by the end of the week.’

  18

  A noise woke him. As he rolled over, he realised his mouth was like sandpaper. He tried to focus through the blur that was his tired state, sat up, and glanced at the digits on the clock by his bedside: 7.30am. He lay back down, his head thumping. Damn Watkins and his after-work drinks. Pulling the duvet over his head, he attempted to block out the light that was beginning to slither through the gap in his curtains. What had he been dreaming about? Most likely the Open Grave murders. They were torturing him on a near nightly basis now. Lately, people he knew had been appearing in the graves. First it was himself, then Louise, and even his daughter Shannon. If he’d been visiting a psychiatrist, they’d have had a field day with him. As it was, he’d only been advised to go and talk to somebody. Until that became an order, he would continue as he was. Suffering, but sane. At least that was his own opinion.

  He tossed and turned, attempting to force himself back to sleep. He could feel himself drowsing, dropping back into his inner thoughts. He closed his eyes. Within seconds he felt himself falling into another slumber.

  His eyes shot open as his phone buzzed.

  ‘Shit!’ he said to himself as he stared at the screen.

  He thumbed the accept button and placed the handset to his ear.

  ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘In bed, it’s not even eight in the morning,’ he yawned. ‘You sound stressed, Christensen.’

  Jack paused, bracing himself for bad news. The fog that had clouded over him had receded. If Christensen was rattled, it must be bad.

  ‘Is it another grave?’

  ‘No, but if I were you I would get to the station before Edwards has a heart attack.’

  ‘Details, Christensen.’

  There was a pause on the line. ‘It’s Nell Stevens, she’s had a break-in and she’s freaking out at the station.’

  So much for letting others take the lead. ‘I’ll be right there.’

  He forced himself to shave, eager not to appear too dishevelled in front of the press. Forty-five minutes later, he arrived at work, stomach growling as he stepped through the media scrum into reception. Breakfast wasn’t a luxury he could afford today.

  ‘Dear me,’ the desk sergeant greeted him. ‘You been shaving yourself with a blunt knife?’

  ‘I was in a hurry,’ he snapped, looking away from her.

  They managed to place Nell Stevens into a separate waiting area away from the press. Jack was on his way in to speak with her when Edwards caught him in the corridor.

  ‘What are the details?’ he asked.

  ‘Apparently we received a phone call around five this morning. The... lover, reported the house broken into.’

  ‘Lover?’

  ‘Yes,’ Edwards replied. ‘He says they have been keeping a low profile about their relationship.’

  Jack nodded.

  ‘She’d spent the night at his place in the rough end of town and, when they went back to hers, they found the place smashed up.’

  ‘Any leads?’

  Edwards shrugged, palms outstretched in submission.

&n
bsp; ‘Anyway, he’s downstairs now drinking green tea,’ he scoffed.

  ‘I’ll go speak to them,’ Jack said.

  ‘You do that, Detective.’ The DSI eyed him. ‘You do understand the ramifications of this? With no end in sight on the Open Grave murders and now this, we’ll be lucky not to be shut down.’

  ‘I understand.’

  * * *

  Jack confirmed the details of Nell Stevens’ partner before beginning.

  ‘Okay, Mr Armstrong, just tell us the chain of events from the start.’

  The man sitting opposite Jack and Christensen inhaled a large breath and placed his hands on the table, as if steadying himself. His designer stubble and Marine-style haircut marked him out as a trendy, good-looking bloke. But the rings around his dark eyes highlighted a lack of sleep, perhaps a partying lifestyle.

  ‘Nell came over to mine, as she usually does.’

  ‘Is this every night?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Most nights. I sometimes stay with her at the weekend. She’s pretty busy.’

  Jack noticed the slight disdainful tone in his voice. Busy being stalked in night clubs, he thought.

  ‘So what was the chain of events from her arriving at your house?’

  Shaun Armstrong took a drink from the water Christensen had supplied, before continuing, ‘She arrived just after eight, as usual. We put a film on...’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘About half an hour after she got there.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Well we watched the film, obviously. Once it finished, we ordered some takeaway from a nearby Chinese and then sat talking.’

  ‘What time did you order the food?’