by Graham Smith
Some bloody precaution. Now the locals want to kill me too!
Going to the bedroom, he replaced jeans and shirt with gym clothes. While it may not keep the evening chill away, it would allow him freedom of movement if he had to run for it.
For ten minutes he went through a series of stretches. He didn’t believe he’d need to run for it, but if he had to run he didn’t want to pull a muscle. That would be the equivalent of handing himself over.
Pulling a dark hoodie on over his thin T-shirt he slipped his phone and wallet into the front pocket.
Flitting his eyes up and down the street he found no possible aggressors so he broke into a jog, more to warm his muscles than to get to the shop quicker.
Not feeling safe in the house, he’d left earlier than he needed to. If necessary he could sprint down to the big junction where Orton Road joined Wigton Road. There was a chip shop and another small store that would still be open. Plus there was always traffic on Wigton Road. While bystanders may or may not save him, he knew their presence should inhibit any assailants.
He’d witnessed an attack, but in that instance the attackers were fuelled by gang loyalty and had not known he was watching. Tonight the attackers would be fuelled by beer and a righteous, if misplaced, indignation at perceived crimes.
* * * *
Evans screeched to a halt behind an Astra and pounded the steering wheel with the heel of his fist.
‘Fuck’s sake, why does this have to happen right in front of us?’
Lauren ignored the question and leapt out of the car and started running towards the accident.
Getting there she found an articulated lorry jack knifed across the road, the front end halfway through a hedge while the trailer was blocking both lanes of the A595.
The way the cab was at right angles to the trailer meant there was no way the lorry could free itself. It would have to be pulled free by a tow-truck. The smell of diesel in the air suggesting the fuel tank had been ruptured, just complicated matters further.
If they did manage to somehow get the lorry moved, there was no way they could leave the scene before Traffic arrived.
‘What happened?’ She held her warrant card up to the wagon driver’s window.
‘Bloody boy racers overtook me on a blind bend. I had to slam on the anchors so they didn’t run into that car.’
Lauren followed his finger. A Citroen was lodged tight up against the side of the lorry’s cab. A man in his mid-sixties stood against the Citroen, pale faced and breathing heavily.
Turning at the sound of an insistent horn, Lauren saw Evans had turned his car around and reversed down the westbound carriageway.
‘Anybody hurt?’
Lauren took another look at the Citroen driver. ‘No Guv.’
‘Get in then. I’ve called it in. Traffic’ll be here in five or ten minutes. They can deal with it.’
Lauren hadn’t even shut the car door when Evans screeched off in search of an alternate route.
Evans slammed through a gear change. ‘Call Jabba. Tell him we’re gonna be late.’
* * * *
Chisholm took Lauren’s phone call with a sense of growing dread. Before she’d even hung up his was reaching for his mobile.
‘Troy? It’s DS Chisholm. The car coming to collect you has been slightly delayed … no it should be there in about fifteen minutes. Stay put and we’ll have someone there as soon as possible. Call me if you need to move.’
With ten minutes to go before the appointed meeting time, he decided there was time to wait for Evans and Lauren to collect Joserand. The vigilantes may not make their move until they’d had a few pints to embolden themselves. He needed to be here to co-ordinate everything and couldn’t go riding off to the rescue. If he left his post the vigilantes couldn’t be led into his trap.
Just as he made this decision a new comment on Facebook changed his mind altogether.
Just seen him. He’s in the paki shop. Will follow him to see where he goes.
* * * *
Joserand pressed the phone against his ear and tried to follow the instructions DS Chisholm was giving him. While the voice on the end of the phone was comforting and giving what seemed like good advice. It was a different matter for him to hear it.
Pretending to be talking to a family member he willed himself not to turn and look at the woman eyeing him with disgust as she typed into her mobile. Instead he did as instructed and browsed a magazine or two before using the reflection in a window to identify his follower.
It was a chubby woman whose hair was scraped back into a ponytail so tight it doubled as a face lift. She was a familiar face on the street and he knew she lived four doors along from the house he’d been put in. She spent most of her days shouting at her kids or pushing a double buggy back and forth. Tracksuits and slogan-bearing t-shirts were her clothes of choice. Each item straining at the seams as it tried to contain her glutinous bulk. A mobile phone was always clutched by meaty fingers as if it were a winning lottery ticket.
Eager to leave the shop as soon as possible, Joserand turned for the door. He half considered grabbing her mobile to deprive her of her means of communication but he thought better of it. He wasn’t a thief and there was no way he was going to give her any possible reason to further brand him.
As he walked from the shop he sent a text to Chisholm, informing him as instructed, which way he was going and a description of the clothes he wore.
The thud of heavy footsteps sounded in his ears as she tried to keep pace with him. He lengthened his stride but did not start to run or jog lest she call in reinforcements.
Following Chisholm’s suggestion, he made his way towards Wigton Road, towards bystanders, towards witnesses.
The hoodie he wore was a double-edged sword. While hiding his identity, it also restricted his peripheral vision, preventing him from seeing any potential attackers. Aware of the chubby woman following him, he dropped the hood down his back and used his increased vision to scan the road ahead. Chisholm had told him to watch for a red M3 ‘driven aggressively by an angry bald man’.
* * * *
Lauren stayed quiet as Evans ranted about the slow moving car in front of them. The country lanes they’d been forced onto afforded no overtaking opportunities. The driver of the car in front wasn’t in any hurry and the way they drove with exaggerated care made Lauren suspect they’d been drinking.
Evans’s phone rang so he hit a button on the steering wheel. The display in the central console showed Janet’s name.
‘Hello is that Harry Evans?’ The female voice was unfamiliar to Lauren, who felt her heart sink.
‘Yes, who’re you, and why are you calling from my wife’s phone?’
‘It’s Dr McAdam. I work with your wife.’
‘Is she OK?’
‘She’s going to be fine.’ There was a measured calmness about Dr McAdam’s voice. ‘She collapsed with a raging infection. We’ve got her prepped for surgery and she’ll be going down to theatre in a few minutes.’
‘Surgery? What are you doing to her?’ The panicked stress in Evans’s voice made Lauren wince in sympathy for him. Evans had tried to carry on as normal since Janet had lost their baby, but his brave face had slipped from time to time, while the team had had to tolerate him being even more irritable than usual.
‘She needs an emergency hysterectomy. Don’t worry, she’ll be fine.’
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. Fifteen minutes tops.’
The car in front turned off allowing Evans to bury his right foot to the floor.
‘You okay guv?’
‘I’m Harry Evans. The He-Man. Of course I’m o-fucking-kay.’ Evans’s aggravated tone exposed the lies of his words.
‘If you’re going to the hospital, shall I call Chisholm so he can have someone else collect Joserand?’
‘No need. There’s enough time for me to get to the hospital and then you to take the car and pick him up. The more people we bring in on this, the m
ore chance there is of Jabba being fired.’
‘OK.’
Lauren was well aware of Evans’s loyalty to his team, but the way he still managed to think of Chisholm’s career while worrying about his wife, showed the decency he kept hidden underneath his brash exterior.
As Evans drove, Lauren tapped out a message to Chisholm, informing him of the change in plans.
* * * *
Chisholm read Lauren’s text with a mixture of concern and exasperation. Evans and his wife were still reeling from the loss of their baby and didn’t need any further upset. Yet the news that Lauren would be delayed from collecting Joserand by at least another five minutes threw his plans into jeopardy.
Picking up his mobile he called Joserand and gave him a terse series of instructions. His next call was made to the fourth member of the team.
Amir Bhaki picked up after the fourth ring. His voice muffled as he chewed on something.
‘Amir, it’s DS Chisholm. We’ve got a situation and I need your help.’
Chisholm listened to the young DC give his assent and then bombarded him with a concise update followed by directions to where Joserand would be.
When he checked Facebook again, the latest post made his blood run cold.
The only positive he could take from the situation was that the vigilante group didn’t know their moves were being watched.
His instructions to Joserand had pre-empted this situation albeit for different reasons.
All he could do now was wait to see what unfolded. If Joserand managed to slip his tail he could be picked up by either Bhaki or Lauren and the vigilantes could be rounded up as planned.
Yet if they got too close to him, he’d have to call in the teams of riot prepared constables and kiss goodbye to his career.
Losing his job wouldn’t be a problem financially as he knew his computer skills were more than good enough to get him a better paid job in a matter of days. What would grieve him would be the lack of making a difference.
Not being on the front line of policing he didn’t see the eyes of the victims or feel their pain. Instead he read it in the reports he read, the files he created and the information he collated.
Evans, Bhaki and Lauren all told him of the victims who passed on their thanks for bringing criminals to justice. Whenever praise came down from the brass, Evans made sure the whole team got credit.
He’d miss the satisfaction of helping to improve victim’s lives; of finding the details which helped to solve cases and most of all he’d miss the team. Without being conceited, he knew just how much the team relied on his digital investigations.
Working both his mobile and the open line he’d kept with Bhaki, he tried to point him towards Joserand’s location.
Checking Facebook again he saw Fiona Grace had posted an update on her earlier comment.
Bastard has took off running. Can’t keep up but he ran down Dalton Ave.
Paedos beware answered within seconds
On our way. We’ve just left the Peddy Arms.
The Pedestrian Arms was on Newtown Road about two hundred yards from the entrance to the hospital.
Shit! I’ve just told him to run towards the hospital. He’s running right towards them.
Turning to the wall map he sought out the area and then posted his own comment.
Seen the dirty bastard turn left onto raffles ave. He’s now running towards Shadygrove rd.
While he typed he was ringing Joserand’s mobile. As expected, he got no answer.
Telling Joserand to put his phone on silent had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now it was a hindrance.
Bhaki reported he was in his car and on his way towards Dalton Avenue.
‘Call me when you get there.’
Chisholm hung up and called Lauren to see where she was. As the phone rang he used his mobile to text Joserand new instructions
Hearing Lauren had dropped Evans at the hospital; he told her of his new plan and put in a call to control. It was time to mobilise the troops.
* * * *
Joserand checked his phone and saw a missed call from Chisholm. There was also a text message warning him the gang were coming his way. The text also told him to turn right at the first opportunity.
Running at three quarter pace to conserve energy, he turned right. Within a minute he was at Wigton Road.
Now it was decision time. Should he turn left and head for the safety of the busier central areas of the city, or should he cross the road and hide himself in suburbia. He knew there was a park surrounding a community centre, the idea of hiding among the numerous bushes called to him. Yet he knew it was also a perfect place for an attack to go unnoticed.
Crossing Wigton Road at a sprint, he thundered along the pavement, his eyes searching for a decent hiding place. When he found one he’d text Chisholm and let him know where he was.
* * * *
Chisholm kept updating the Facebook page with statuses designed to draw the vigilante group away from Joserand’s position. When he’d led them into a bottle neck he would spring his trap.
Before he dared spring the trap he would have to locate Joserand and have him collected.
His repeated texts had gone un-answered. It didn’t surprise him. If he was in Joserand’s position he wouldn’t be sending texts. He’d be running for his life.
Lauren and Bhaki were circling the area looking for Joserand. Both were relying on him to pinpoint an exact location though.
Looking at his mobile he willed it to beep or ring, to show any kind of message or contact from Joserand.
Facebook was updated with a new status which caused him to gasp in disbelief.
Think U guys may be mistaken. Pretty sure he’s just ran along Barrowvale Road.
Bloody hell. Joserand must have taken fright and crossed Wigton Road. He must be terrified.
Calling Lauren he re-directed her towards Barrowvale Road while leaving Bhaki to watch for any sign of the gang moving in that direction.
As he spoke he used a different profile to post to the group.
U r wrong!!! Hes jst gone by me hes running like fuck so u better be quick.
The response was immediate.
Where r u?
Chisholm glanced at the map on the wall and found the perfect place to spring his trap.
By oakdale school
A flood of vitriolic comments came after his post, each poster calling Joserand worse than shit for going towards a school.
* * * *
Evans ran through the hospital as fast as he could, concern for Janet powering him through the sterile atrium.
His watch told him she would be in surgery for another hour at least but he had to be there. He had to be by her side, or as close as he could be.
Joserand and all the others could look after themselves. His place was here with his wife, even if the here in question was a hospital waiting room. Speaking to a receptionist at the main desk, he was told to go to the Beech ward.
The receptionist had a patient manner and friendly smile, but neither was enough to lift the gloom of his spirits.
Janet had been withdrawn enough after losing the baby, now she’d lost the chance of having another he didn’t know how he could begin to lift her spirits.
Right now he wasn’t sure he could lift his own. He felt like raging at the injustices of the world but knew better. Theirs was a fate many couples faced and there was nothing or nobody to blame for it. Life had decided to take a kick at Mr & Mrs Harry Evans and there was nothing to be gained from taking a kick back.
Sitting alone in the waiting room, he made repeated vows he would do whatever it took to put the smile back into Janet’s eyes.
* * * *
Hiding behind a garage, Troy Joserand reached into his hoodie’s front pocket. His grasping fingers could only feel the keys to his temporary home and his wallet. Checking again he still couldn’t find his mobile.
Reasoning it must have fallen out when he was running, he wracked
his brains as to what he should do next.
Going back and looking for it may lead him into danger; yet doing nothing wouldn’t get him to safety.
Edging his head around the garage, he scanned the street in both directions. There was no movement to be seen. No pedestrians walked the streets and the road carried no traffic.
Setting a brisk pace, he strode back the way he came, his eyes swapping between the ground and the road. A hundred yards from his hiding place, he found his mobile lying on the pavement. Snatching it up, he clutched it tight and sprinted back to the garage.
Secure in his hiding place once more, he took a proper look at the phone. Its screen was cracked and there was a nasty dent on one corner.
Shit. Please work. Please let me call that copper.
The metrics of the screen were off by a half inch, but Joserand managed to call Chisholm. He’d made a mental note of the street he was on as Chisholm had told him to.
‘DS Chisholm? It’s Troy. I’m on Barrowvale Road … about halfway along. I’m behind some garages.’
Troy listened for a few seconds and then hung up.
Less than three minutes later he heard a pair of short blasts on a car horn followed by two longer ones.
Poking his head round the corner he saw a red BMW M3. Approaching it with caution he saw a pretty blonde sitting in the driver’s seat. A warrant card was held out of the open window.
‘You’re safe. DS Chisholm led them into a trap. They’re rounding up the last of them now.’
* * * *
Evans sprang to his feet as Janet was wheeled out of the lift. Her eyes found him. A single tear escaped her left eye and rolled down her cheek.
Not knowing what to say, Evans said the first thing he could think of. ‘I love you so much Janet Evans. We’re gonna get through this. Together you and I can get through anything. When you’re ready we can look at adoption or fostering.’