Open Grave

  ‘Army gear, perhaps,’ she said. ‘I know it’s only a small detail, but it might help narrow down the suspect pool.’

  The suspect pool of none.

  ‘Great, thanks, Keira,’ he said, ending the call.

  Neat. Tidy. Army? Jack felt sure they were getting closer.

  His phone vibrated again. Unknown caller again.

  ‘Did you forget something, Keira?’

  ‘Listen carefully,’ a foreign voice began.

  Jack felt ice running through his body.

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘I make it a priority of mine to get to know people very well, especially when they are digging into my business.’

  ‘What business?’

  ‘You have captured my attention, Jack Lambert, and that is not a good thing.’

  He strained his hearing. There was a muffled scraping noise in the background, as the stranger barked an order out.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I propose we meet.’

  ‘And why would I meet you?’

  ‘Good question, my friend,’ the voice went on. The accent sounded Eastern European, although he was well-spoken. ‘Well, you don’t have to but when you make it your business to pry into what I’m doing, I make it my business to pry into all aspects of your life. I could rattle off a list of all the important people in your world, Jack, starting with your daughter.’

  Jack gritted his teeth. ‘I understand.’

  ‘Good. I’ll be in touch in due course. In the meantime, I have someone here who wants to talk to you.’

  There was a muffled discussion before somebody appeared back on the line.

  ‘Jack, it’s me – Robson.’

  ‘Robson, what’s going on?’

  ‘They’ve got me holed up somewhere, you’ve got to help me, please.’

  Jack felt his stomach tighten. Robson had been abducted after all; and, if Jack knew him like he thought he did, he’d have said whatever was necessary to save his own skin.

  Including implicating Jack.

  ‘Just stay calm,’ he told him, despite his own nervous system doing otherwise.

  ‘So, as you can see, we have ourselves a situation here,’ the first voice returned. ‘I will ring back with arrangements in one hour. Go to your house and wait there.’

  The line went dead. Jack placed it back into his pocket and ran a weary hand across his forehead. Despite the cold weather, he began to sweat. They knew who his close family were and where he lived. They’d also kidnapped Robson. Protocol would tell him to inform his colleagues, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d ignored the rules. If he told anybody, he risked hurting others.

  He was back at his house within twenty minutes. He ran up to the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, and began pacing up and down the hallway. Unable to think clearly, he poured himself a whisky before thinking better of it and tossing it down the sink. Then he rang his daughter; she told him they were out of town on a family trip. Swallowing the hurt, he wished her well before trying Rosie’s mobile. He got no answer, so he left a voicemail asking her to text him when she got the chance.

  Then he made a call he’d promised himself he’d never do again.

  ‘Jack, how good of you to get in touch,’ Dorian said. ‘On my private line no less. Are you looking to get back involved?’

  ‘Save the pleasantries, is this your doing?’

  A pause. When the voice replied, the tone was noticeably cooler. ‘Remember who you’re talking to, Detective.’

  That was the McGuinness Jack knew.

  ‘How about you tell me why I’ve just had some lackey on the phone threatening me?’

  Another pause. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Oh, please, McGuinness,’ Jack cut in. ‘The bloke had my number, accused me of prying into his business and threatened my family. Is this because I roughed one of your goons up?’

  ‘That was unfortunate, Jack. A small misdemeanour on your part, I’m sure. That is a conversation we can have another day.’

  Jack didn’t like the sound of that.

  ‘Don’t you ever think you can threaten my family, Dorian, or I swear to God—’

  ‘I’m going to say this once,’ McGuinness interjected, ‘because we go back a long way. If you ever wrongly accuse me of threatening innocent people again, I’ll be forced to revoke our little truce. Judging by the sounds of it, though, somebody isn’t too pleased with you. We all have enemies, Jack, how long’s your list?’

  The phone went dead.

  Jack was pacing across his living room with a coffee when his phone rang again. He polished off the espresso, answered the call.

  ‘Ten minutes, the park across the road.’

  Jack stood, methodically washed out his mug and grabbed his jacket. Glancing momentarily at the kitchen counter, he considered picking up a knife. What if he was caught? Bad idea. He checked for his phone and keys, he left the house and began the short walk across to Leazes Park. Being heavily wooded, it was perfect for an illicit meeting at this time in the evening.

  He approached the gate and glanced round. The only movement seemed to come from what he assumed to be a couple, who were sat across the other side of the lake. He waited. Seconds later, his phone buzzed.

  ‘The trees to your left.’

  After gulping down the uneasy feeling that was threatening to paralyse him, he did as he was told. Every breeze and twig snap caused him to jerk around violently in search of his hidden pursuer. His pulse had quickened to what most doctors would label a health hazard and his breathing came in short, erratic bursts.

  Whoever it was, they were upon him before he had a chance to react. Leaves and dirt scratched at his face like an angry child as he was manhandled down. A hood, which smelled of rust, was forced over his face, blinding him.

  He fought against rough hands as he felt himself being bundled into a vehicle. A sharp kick to his head stopped him in his tracks and he submitted to whatever was going to happen. He needed to conserve energy for now. Seconds later, the sound of a side door sliding across could be heard. He knew it was useless to resist. No point in risking taking a beating now. That would no doubt come later.

  He tried to follow the directions the van was taking. His mind took him back to the Sherlock Holmes film where the protagonist had been bundled into a cart, in similar circumstances, and managed to recount the exact direction they had taken. Unfortunately for him this wasn’t fiction, and he wasn’t Sherlock Holmes.

  The drive seemed to take some time and Jack was aware of at least two different men in the back of the van alongside him, given away by their heavy breathing. That meant, including the driver, there were at least three assailants. The odds weren’t great.

  After what seemed like an age, he felt the terrain change to something far rougher as the van veered left. Within minutes they pulled to a stop, the engine dying. Seconds later, he heard the driver get out and the side door was pulled across. The heavies dragged him out and frogmarched him towards an unseen foe. He didn’t have to fight against them, nor did he have to help them out. Making his body as heavy as possible, he heard them grunt from the effort. The cold was swiping at him now, making him wish he’d brought his gloves along for the ride. He attempted to move his hands as he walked, but it was no use; the bonds were too tight. He nearly tripped as they entered a building, the smell of off-meat and sewage greeting him as he did so. He felt his stomach tighten as they veered left, footsteps echoing against a hard surface.

  They forced him onto a hard wooden chair and removed his blindfold, a brilliant, white light momentarily dazzling him. His head throbbed from stress, lack of sleep and the clip around the ears that he’d been given in the park. After a few heavy blinks, his eyes began to refocus. In front of him was a spotlight placed directly towards his seat. Although not quite a warehouse, the room that now held him was huge, with an expanse of boxes littered around. A high-beamed ceiling glared down at him, an assort
ment of boarded up and smashed windows completing the picture.

  ‘Ah, Mr Lambert,’ an Eastern European voice snaked out from the darkness.

  ‘I’ve spoken to you already, haven’t I?’ he choked out, mouth dry.

  ‘Yes, Detective, you have.’

  ‘What is it you want?’

  ‘Want? Why, we have everything that we want,’ he continued, the voice moving closer now.

  Jack noted the use of ‘we’. ‘So why bring me here?’

  The scraping of boots to his right dragged his attention away. The heavies from the van, Jack assumed. Even through the damp atmosphere of the room, he could still make out the smell of Cool Water aftershave.

  ‘You have been snooping, my friend, and that I cannot allow.’

  Sweat was dripping from his brow onto his upper lip. There was no way they were going to let him live. He fought the urge to panic as best he could, straining to focus his mind.

  ‘Look, I don’t know what you think it is that you know but—’

  A hand grabbed his shoulder in an iron grip, nails tearing flesh. Jack fought the urge to cry out.

  ‘I hope you are not calling me a liar, Detective,’ the voice arrived at his ear. ‘Show him.’

  One of the hired help stepped out from behind Jack and forced his chair around. There, directly opposite, was Robson, eyes wide and mouth duct-taped shut. Much like Jack, his hands had been bound and, judging by the redness of his face, somebody had been having their fun with him. Snot splayed from his nose with every breath as tears streamed down his bruised cheeks.

  ‘Look,’ Jack said, frantically trying to buy some time. ‘Let him go, he knows nothing.’

  ‘I can’t stand liars. Let it not be said I am a hypocrite, though. I will be honest with you, Jack Lambert. I know that Mr Robson here has passed on information to you regarding our operation. I also know that—’

  ‘I—’

  A fist slammed against his jaw, out of nowhere, causing millions of small white stars to dance across his vision. He spat, red congealing on the floor as the taste of metal engulfed his mouth.

  The voice continued, unperturbed, ‘I also know that you have been following some of our movements. Indeed, it seems you have been to this very place at least once before.’

  The abandoned factory? So, McGuinness was involved after all.

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Us foreigners are not as stupid as your tabloid newspapers would have you believe,’ he snorted. ‘I’m hardly going to run an operation from here without installing a camera now, am I?’

  It hadn’t even crossed Jack’s mind to check for that. He’d been so consumed with following the van, he’d not even stopped to think. Now he’d put his and Watkins’ life at risk. Not to mention those close to him.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry. I will catch up with your detective friend just as soon as we are done here. I hear he has a soft nature, isn’t that right, Arnold?’

  ‘Aye, that’s one way of putting it.’

  Jack snapped his head around as Mohan stepped forward, Cheshire cat grin on his face. It seemed Tank’s brutal reputation might be about to be put to the test.

  ‘Mr Mohan, why don’t you show our guests what you have brought for them today?’

  Tank dragged a small table in between the two hostages. In the centre lay a toolbox, which was opened, revealing an assortment of hammers, pliers and saws.... Jack was now face to face with McGuinness’s right-hand man. A sly smile spread across his face as a gloved hand reached into the box to pull out a handsaw, eyes never leaving his.

  ‘You’re not seriously going to kill a policeman, are you?’ he shouted, unable to contain the tremor in his voice.

  Tank grinned. ’It’s not my usual practice. But for you, I’m going to make an exception, like.’

  Jack strained against his bonds but it was no use. He should have called backup. Playing the Lone Ranger very rarely worked. He’d found that out in spectacular fashion with the Newcastle Knifer. Now, Arnold ‘Tank’ Mohan was about to finish the job.

  He needed time. ‘So why kill Liam Reed? Because he wanted out? Because he was disloyal to McGuinness?’

  Arnold snorted. ‘Him? He was always wanting out,’ he laughed. ‘Liam knew the risks in this game. These things just happen.’

  While the squat man spoke, Jack began working the bonds. It was slow going, but the tension was definitely loosening. ‘Then why kill him?’

  Tank raised a thick eyebrow. ‘You really don’t have a clue, do you? You’re dumber than McGuinness gives you credit for.’

  The cool way in which Tank was referring to his boss made Jack uneasy. Something was amiss. ‘I don’t understand—’

  ‘You really aren’t that good a policeman, then,’ Tank interrupted him. ‘Dorian is finished. I have a new partner now.’

  So that was it. Tank had switched sides and betrayed the aquatic shop owner. Jack couldn’t believe it. Mohan had never struck him as the devious type.

  ‘So, what… Liam knew about the operation against McGuinness and you had to take him out?’

  Mohan shrugged. ‘Liam’s death was nowt to do with me.’

  Jack tried to remain cool and keep the conversation going. ‘This boss of yours must be a powerful bloke.’

  ‘Partner!’ Tank shouted. Jack had obviously touched a nerve.

  ‘Don’t say his name,’ the Eastern European voice hissed.

  The thug bristled. ‘Wasn’t about to.’

  ‘You sure it’s your partner?’ Jack asked. ‘Sounds to me like you’re still the hired help, Arnold.’

  He was prepared for the fist that slammed into his face but it still hurt like hell. Blinking through the tears, he could feel his eye instantly begin to swell. Judging by the searing pain scratching down the side of his face, his jaw might well have been broken too. Still, the more he could keep them talking, the longer he had to think of a way out. He began using the back of his chair to saw away at his bonds, rope scraping against wood.

  ‘Enough of this!’ the European shouted from the shadows. ‘Get on with it.’

  Jack smirked, risking the wrath of his captor once more, but it seemed that his plan was having the desired effect. Tank turned, stuck out his barrelled chest and pointed a gloved hand into the darkness.

  ‘Don’t you fucking order me about!’

  He could feel the bonds thinning, ever so slightly.

  A click to Jack’s right and, within a second, a black barrel was pointed at Tank’s huge cranium. The heavy lowered his hand and shrugged, but Jack could see the sweat on his brow.

  ‘Don’t forget that you are a commodity that we can do without. There is nothing special about you, Mr Mohan, but I’ll be sure to let your... partner know about your concerns regarding your role in this operation. I’m sure he would be most interested in your issues.’

  ‘I didn’t mean owt by it,’ Tank’s voice cracked. ‘Look, inviting Liam in was a mistake, but it’s taken care of now, right?’

  ‘You advised us to use him. Perhaps you aren’t as wise as you like to think.’

  Jack continued gnawing at the ropes around his wrists. His hands were aching, but he forced himself to continue. It was his only chance.

  Tank spluttered, clearing his throat. ‘Aye... well, honest mistake, wasn’t it?’

  ‘My employer doesn’t like mistakes; or those who make them.’

  Nearly there.

  ‘Alright, alright, point made.’

  Tank turned back to his toolbox as Jack discreetly tried to loosen his bonds. Robson was sitting in silence, almost in a comatose state, unaware of the chaos going on around him.

  ‘Now then.’ Tank turned to Jack, saw in hand. ‘Where to begin?’

  The icy sting of blade hit his cheek as Tank, lightly at first, began to apply pressure on his swollen jaw. He tried to hold it in, but couldn’t, a bloodcurdling scream erupting as metal met bone.

  Tank’s penchant for playing with his food would be his downfall. He t
urned, aiming the blade at Robson, whose eyes came to life just as Jack managed to loosen the bonds enough to free his hands. He stood, moving in before Mohan had a chance to react, aiming a palm into the throat of his captor before spinning to his right.

  Mohan fell to the ground as a shot rang out. Dodging it, Jack moved into the darkness, throwing himself behind a row of boxes. Stay low and move, he told himself.

  ‘You idiot!’ the European shouted through the commotion. ‘Find him! No loose ends.’

  Jack took a moment to take in his surroundings. It was dark but he knew he was planted behind a giant, cloth-covered container. He kept moving away from his original position, heading for the other side of the room in the hope of finding an exit.

  Another shot rang out in the distance as a number of voices communicated excitedly. He moved on, adrenaline masking the pain in his face and wrists. He felt bad for Robson but, if he stayed, they’d both be dead. The best he could hope for was that they hadn’t killed him already. He fished around in his pockets and placed his key between his fingers to use as a makeshift weapon.

  ‘We will find you, Mr Lambert,’ the European called.

  Suddenly, the lights went up around him. He could hear the voices moving closer. He wondered how many there were, but didn’t plan on sticking around long enough to find out. His vision was clouding as his jaw and eye continued to swell. If he ever made it out of here, he’d have to pay a visit to the nearest hospital.

  ‘I can’t see him!’ a voice called out nearby.

  Crouching, Jack moved around a set of cardboard boxes, key at the ready. The body of a heavyset man with unkempt black hair came into view. In his left hand a tiny black revolver hung loose. Jack snuck up behind him and forced the brass key into his throat, his other hand coming up to grab the gun.

  ‘You even breathe loudly and I’ll cut your neck,’ he whispered.

  He could feel the man nod in acknowledgment as he prised the gun from his hand. Checking his surroundings, he edged back towards the centre of the room, the pain of his jaw dulled by adrenaline. Now he had a plan.

  ‘Nobody move!’ he called out, dragging his hostage into view.

  Tank spun to face him, eyes lighting up like a predator seeking its next kill. To his right stood whom Jack believed to be the orchestrator of the event. He was smartly dressed in a shirt and tie, hair slicked back, with just the right amount of designer stubble to tell Jack he gave a shit about the way he looked. His chiselled features remained unmoved, betraying no emotion. Just behind them stood two heavies, similar in build to Tank, but with more hair and better dress sense.