Nemesis - John Kane's revenge

by Bill Carson

  The bottle would topple over and the water droplets would travel down the pipework and agitate the acid which, once in contact with water, has a violent reaction. Even a single drop would cause the acid to burn at a tremendously high intensity. The powerful acid would eventually eat its way into the seal of the joint on the copper gas pipe. This would cause a slow, steady gas leak, and the build-up of gas, once ignited, would facilitate a huge and devastating explosion.

  Before leaving, he stood with his back to the doors and scanned the room, checking that all of the pyrotechnic devices were placed out of the eye line of any inquisitive security guard who may decide to take a peek through the window. He switched out the lights and slowly closed the door, making sure it had not caused a draught, and then turned the key in the substantial lock.

  He secured his rucksack to his back, and casually approached the security guard in the small office by the rear door in the next part of the building. He handed in the key and then signed the register as usual.

  “No date tonight then, Terry?” the silly old sod in the uniform quipped.

  “No, not tonight, see you tomorrow,” he said, as he disappeared into the crowd.

  John had primed all of the timers on the incendiary devices to detonate at midnight, as at that time the east side of the building would be completely empty, except for the two security guards on the night shift who would be at the other end of the building at that time. He had managed to obtain one of their roster sheets one evening while he was handing back the keys to the kitchen, which showed all of the times of their night patrols. The kitchens were situated in the basement of the east wing, and the columns which supported that side of the structure were to be the target. The whole weight of one side of the impressive building was resting upon them, and so if these were to be suddenly removed, the edifice would collapse in on itself like a house of cards.

  The day of reckoning for the judge had finally arrived, and it was now time to prepare him for his final journey. John quickly removed the padlock and switched the light on and strolled into the centre of the room. The judge was immobile and stayed curled up in a pathetic little ball in the corner.

  “OK, Judge, this is it, your time has come.”

  John leant forward and grabbed him roughly by the scruff of his neck and yanked him to his feet. He untied him and allowed him the use of the bucket. He was very weak and was suffering badly from his two days of solitary incarceration.

  “Bloody hell, look at the state of you. England’s finest, I ask you? If only they could see you now and you’ve only been here two days. Imagine what you’d look like after five fucking years?” John said, as he ripped the strip of tape from the judge’s dry cracked lips. “There’s some bread and water on the table. Make the most of it, as it will be the last meal you’ll ever have,” John said, as the judge stuffed a slice of dry brown bread into his mouth and then sucked copiously from the neck of the plastic bottle of lukewarm mineral water.

  “Thank you,” he said between gulps.

  “Hey, I just thought. Are you any good at swimming?” John asked.

  “No, why do you ask?”

  “Just curious, that’s all,” John said, as he secured the judge’s wrists behind his back with some thick plastic cable ties. “Oh, by the way, later on tonight we’re going to take a little trip.”

  “Where?”

  “Oh, not far. In fact, we won’t be too far from the Old Bailey as it happens, or what will be left of it.”

  “How do you mean?” The judge‘s eyes seemed to come to life at the mention of the place.

  “You’ll find out soon enough, now shut it.”

  “You, sir, are without a shadow of a doubt the cruellest man I have ever had the misfortune of encountering in all my years, and you’re a downright coward to boot.”

  “Oh, that’s rich, coming from you. Take a look in the fucking mirror and you’ll see a crueller one. And keep it up; make me hate you even more, and I won’t feel so guilty when the time comes. Guilty, you like that word, don’t you?”

  “You are completely insane and you’ll never get away with it. Give yourself up. You must know you haven’t got a chance.”

  “Who says I intend to get away with it? As long as I make sure you’re gone, my job will be done and I’ll be satisfied,” John said, and as they came eye to eye he pressed a fresh strip of thick tape across the judge’s mouth.

  “Lights out!” John shouted, and slammed the cell door. He deliberately left the light on inside the cell for a moment, and peeked through the spy hole and watched as the judge hung his head and wept.

  “Broken,” John thought, as he switched out the light.

  John made his way downstairs and felt utterly exhausted. Inside he wasn’t too happy with making another human being suffer such terrible mental torture. It went against the grain for him, as he was someone who would usually take on his enemies face to face and hand to hand. This psychological warfare malarkey was different and unpleasant, but the situation with Lynda had altered his concepts. He still didn’t care for it though as it was in his mind a dishonourable way to achieve victory. He almost felt a twinge of sorrow for the old boy when he saw him weeping in the corner of that horrible little room.

  At that moment he remembered the look on the judge’s face as Lynda was crying in the dock in front of him, and he remembered that there was not a flicker of emotion on the power-crazed old fool that day.

  ~~~

  Nick Harland cruised down the quiet tree-lined lane of Park Road and decided to drive straight past Mrs Macintyre’s house. He gave a cursory glance at the darkened empty property as he zipped by. He carried on for another fifty yards, and stopped at the top of the long straight road and observed the property in the rear view mirror for any signs of life for a full hour before making a move.

  He left the car where it was and walked briskly back down the road towards the house. He decided to go in through the back, he pushed the wooden gate but it had been bolted from the other side, and so, in one movement, and without thinking, he put one foot against the wall and leapt up onto the rail of the six-foot-high back garden fence like a free runner. But the rail on the old fence was covered in moss and the recent downpour had made it incredibly slippery, Nick’s mind was willing but his body failed him at the crucial moment, and he lost his balance and fell head first onto a pair of large plastic dustbins on the other side.

  He tumbled to the ground heavily and scattered the bins and their contents across the small patio. He stayed put for a moment, and lay on the cold, wet paving slabs and listened as a mutt a few houses along yapped in his direction.

  Luckily only the dog had heard the racket, and so after a couple of minutes he quietly repositioned the bins and gently replaced the lids, then moved toward the back door. He brushed himself down, took a deep breath, shook his head, and then thought how amusing George would have found it all if he was here. He slipped his hand inside his coat and took out his new lock pick gun from his pocket. He inserted the probe into the keyhole and squeezed the trigger a couple of times and coaxed the levers inside the simple lock to give way. Within seconds it had succumbed. He then tentatively twisted the door handle and it opened with an eerie, protracted squeak.

  He sneaked inside the clean and tidy kitchen and quietly closed the back door, then went into the living room, closing the kitchen door behind him. He stood in the centre of the cold, dark room. He closed his eyes and concentrated hard and tried to tap into the vibe to get the feel of the atmosphere, hoping that he might gain some kind of insight but there was nothing. So he stood still and just used his eyes to survey the surroundings.

  He switched on his flashlight and the first thing he spotted was the huge dark patch of black blood ingrained into the headrest of the sofa. My God, he didn’t muck about, did he, those rounds must have blown her brains out the back of her head. I wonder if he was using a special load? Maybe not, perhaps just a couple of 45s at close range, Nick thought.

 
; He spent the next two hours meticulously searching the place, and found absolutely nothing to suggest anything untoward. However, there was something that was bugging him from the moment that he arrived and he just couldn’t figure out what it was, but it was often like that and sooner or later it would come to him. And sure enough, as he was a hundred yards from the front door of his office, a name suddenly popped into his head.

  Kane, it’s him, it’s John bloody Kane. Lynda Jackson lived in Park Road, I remember reading about the court case in the papers, he remembered as he slotted the shiny black Audi into a tight space outside his office door.

  Nick rushed inside and called out to Anna, who was upstairs preparing dinner.

  “Anna, where are you, mate?”

  “Up here, Nick,” she shouted down the staircase.

  “OK, I’ll be up in a minute, I’ve got some good news about the case,” he said as he headed for the computer.

  “How did you get on then?” she shouted back.

  “Hang on, I’ll be up in a minute and I’ll tell you.”

  He quickly logged on and searched the backdated newspaper files and any other archived material relating to the trial of Lynda Jackson. After a few minutes he found something and there it was, large as life in black and white, Lynda Jackson’s address: 9 Park Road, Essex. Fucking hell, that’s right next door to the old lady, what’s he up to this time? Why would he want to top the old girl he used to live next door to? Nick thought, as he pulled the copy of the newspaper from the printer.

  “Anna, take a look at this,” he said, and thrust the print-out under her nose as she was putting the finishing touches to the evening meal.

  “What? What am I supposed to be looking at, Nick? I am trying to cook here,” she said as she turned down the heat on the stove.

  “The address,” he said, and pointed to the section that he wanted her to read.

  “OK, 9 Park Road, Essex, so what?”

  “So, take a look at the names.”

  “John Kane of 9 Park Road, Essex, was unavailable for comment after his partner Lynda Jackson was sentenced today at the Old Bailey,” she read. “John Kane? Who’s he?” She gazed at Nick in silence and waited for an explanation.

  Nick sat at the table as Anna served up his favourite dinner, which was home-made steak and kidney pie and mashed potato, set in an ocean of gravy. They said nothing more as they ate, and Nick seemed to have had all of his fervent enthusiasm of the past two days knocked right out of him with the mention of the name of John Kane.

  “Sorry, Anna, of course, I never told anyone, did I? It was while we were sitting by the pool one day. You had just come back from the village with the newspapers, and while I was flicking through The Sun, a small black and white photo of a man caught my eye, and it was John Kane. I knew the face immediately as I’d been studying the CCTV evidence for months. He was coming out of the court house and that’s when I knew the identity of the murderer because it was the same face that I’d been staring at for months.”

  “Bloody hell, Nick, now look. I know there’s a lot of money at stake here, but if you’re right and I think you are, and this involves hunting down that lunatic, then Simon Macintyre can get someone else. This bloke’s a real killer and makes Jack the Ripper seem like an amateur. He’s far too dangerous for us to be getting involved with, and it is just the two of us, remember.”

  “I know what you’re saying, Anna, and you’re right, but we can’t give up on this one. I know he’s a bit of a nutter, but after all, we are being paid and I am supposed to be good at catching murderers, aren’t I?”

  “Yeah, you are, but he’s a monster and a real psycho. I think we should give this one a miss? Look, we couldn’t catch him with a whole division of police officers and half a dozen detectives behind us the last time, so what chance have us two got?” she said.

  “Maybe you’re right, but it’s too much money to turn down. Perhaps I should get some help on this one, what do you think?”

  “I think we should go for a nice little drink and chill out, and then in the morning we’ll talk it over and rethink our strategy, how does that sound?” Anna said, as she sat on his lap, stroked his hair and kissed him tenderly on the lips.

  “Always the voice of reason, now why didn’t I think of that?”

  “That’s because I’m the brains of the operation. Let me go and freshen up and we’ll pop down for a little drink with George, how does that sound?”

  “Sounds like a plan and a bloody good one,” Nick smiled, as he checked his watch to see how much drinking time was left. And an hour later, Nick and Anna strolled through the doors of the Royal Oak.

  “Blimey, I don’t see you two for ages, and now I can’t keep you away! How’s the electrics, Anna?” George asked, and winked as he poured Nick a pint.

  “Electrics?” asked Nick.

  “The electricity went off while you were out and I asked George if he could come and have a look. He fixed it for us,” Anna said.

  “Knight in shining armour I am, mate. Hey what do you two think about that judge, then? Do you think he’s done a runner like old Lord Lucan, run off with some young tart, or do you reckon someone’s topped him?” George said, as he pointed to the Sky news on the TV.

  “I haven’t got a Scooby-doo, mate. I’ve been out most of the day, when did all this happen?”

  “Apparently some high court judge, William Morris what’s his face, you know, the old judge who’s been in the papers lately, he’s gone bloody AWOL and they’re searching all over the place for him. Haven’t you noticed the amount of police sirens going off? It’s driving me bloody potty. Judges, all dodgy old bastards, always up to no good, you mark my words.”

  “A murder in Park Road of an old lady who just so happened to have John Kane as a next door neighbour, and then the disappearance of a high court judge who, if I’m not mistaken, presided over the Lynda Jackson trial, this is turning into a bloody nightmare, Anna.”

  “We don’t know it is him though, do we? Kane, I mean? He might not be connected to either of them?”

  “I wasn’t sure either, until they flashed the judge’s name across the screen, and it is definitely the same judge that’s in the article I printed off earlier. Yep, that’s him, William Morris Denton. He sent Lynda Jackson, Kane’s girlfriend, down for five years and she topped herself inside. Kane must now be back for revenge.”

  “OK, that might explain the judge’s disappearance, but it doesn’t explain the murder of Mrs Macintyre, does it? If he was after the judge, why would he want to kill her? What’s she got to do with a high court judge at the Old Bailey? It doesn’t add up, does it?”

  “So if he didn’t kill her, who did? And what for? And the fact that he used to live next door to her is a coincidence then? I don’t buy it, there has got to be a connection and there’s definitely more to this one than meets the eye. Bloody hell, Anna, this is giving me bollock ache already and I’ve only been on the case a day. What kind of a tangled web of shit have we got ourselves into here?” Nick said quietly.

  “No one said it was gonna be easy, Nick, and as for that million, it looks like we’ll have to earn it and it’ll probably be the hard way,” Anna sighed, as they both turned in unison as George stuck his head in between them like a great big soppy dog.

  “What are you two whispering about? Come on drink up, the next round’s on the house,” George said.

  “Good idea, George, I’ll have a vodka please, and can you make it a double?” Anna said.

  “I’ll have a vodka as well George, but make mine a pint, will you?” Nick said. And Anna burst out laughing.

  “What’s up with you two tonight, you gone bloody mad?” George stared at them with a stupid puzzled expression. “A pair of bleedin’ nutters,” George mumbled and shook his head as he prepared the drinks. Nick almost fell off his bar stool with laughter.

  The next morning after breakfast, Anna and Nick sat in the office and discussed what their next move should be, if, indee
d, they continued to proceed at all. So much had happened in twenty-four hours and the quick onslaught of revelations had kind of blown them away. However, Nick had already decided not to throw in the towel yet and had chosen to enlist a new recruit. He had contacted one of his old pals on the force. In the back of his mind, he was always going to have a few moonlighters on the payroll at some stage anyhow, so that afternoon he arranged a meeting at his office with Detective Sergeant Phil Smith from his old squad. Phil was an experienced, street-wise detective, but had always kept very dubious company and was overlooked for promotion many times because of it. He was not everyone’s cup of tea and he could be quite loud and brash. In his younger days had done a little boxing, which accounted for his rough exterior and squashed nose. He wouldn’t have looked out of place guarding the front door of one of Costa’s night clubs. He was a bit of a tough guy and a throwback to another age in manner and in thought, and that’s why Nick had always liked him – up to a point that is.