The Badge & the Pen Thrillers

by Roger A Price

  “What about our problems?”

  “Not now,” Lesley said, as she collected her bag and car keys and headed for the front door.

  As Vinnie listened to the door slam shut, he realised that he’d never heard Lesley talk of a Sandy before. It was just an excuse to get out. She must have forgotten what his day job was.

  He couldn’t allow himself to dwell on this now; she was probably just keeping out the way and didn’t want him blundering around to her friend’s house. Which she probably thought he was capable of doing; if he’d known to whose friend’s house she’d gone. Actually, she was wrong, that wasn’t his style, but his marriage would have to wait a little longer he thought as he made his way back to the fridge. He had a maniac murderer to catch first.

  Chapter Eleven

  Moxley had slept fitfully in the BMW, parked on a quiet track at the foothills above the town. Car seats weren’t meant for sleeping in and every time he turned he awoke for a moment. And every time he stirred he caught a whiff of the decay that was occurring in the boot.

  It was time to say goodbye to his nutter friends. He’d already used their cash cards to access their meagre funds, he just needed one more thing and then he’d be done. First though, he’d better check the abattoir.

  Having got out the car and relieved himself, he stretched and took a second to stare down at the sprawling town still resplendent with the rows of terrace streets and the odd chimney. Rochdale looked very different to how he remembered it, new builds and modern architecture everywhere. Though its iconic row of high rise flats still stood proud. It was at this moment that he realised he had not yet had the chance to stop and take in his freedom, the joy of being in wide open spaces after ten years of confinement. There would be time enough for that later, but as he took a last look at the panorama, he wondered whereabouts, below or beyond, lay that snivelling animal. He could have taken him with him instead of ‘His Man’. Those two clowns in the boot didn’t understand why. But they were none too bright. It would have been too easy that way. Even when he’d approached his flat, it was only supposed to be the start, not the end.

  Back to the present, he needed to get rid of the other two, and no better place to hide them than under the coppers’ snouts. He quietly made his way on foot until he approached the abattoir twenty minutes later. He hid down in the long summer hill grass, and took in his environment. The police tape was gone; there were no vehicles, or signs of life. He smiled as he thought the words.

  Satisfied there was no one still there, he slowly circumnavigated the abattoir before approaching closer. Not only was it empty, but the broken concrete flooring had been ripped up by the cops, though he’d no idea what they’d expected to find. This would be perfect.

  An hour later, the bodies were gone from the boot of the car, though he would have to drive around with the windows down for a while to rid his nostrils of the lingering stench. He also knew he couldn’t keep the car too much longer; to be still driving it was a risk. Even if he came across a similar make and model, getting new number plates made up wasn’t easy; nowadays, you needed to prove you were the vehicle owner. He knew of backstreet boys who no doubt were still around, but he couldn’t risk showing his face now; he knew there would soon be a hefty bounty on his head and there would be grassing bastards everywhere.

  He needed the car for one more journey after which he’d hide where they could all see him, but where he knew none would. But first he needed to find that snivelling animal he now called Stench.

  *

  Vinnie Palmer never heard Lesley come home, probably thanks to several bottles of lager, but he heard her slam the door at seven o’clock next morning on her way to work. Very early, he thought, obviously still in avoidance mode. He sighed as he rose, slightly heady, and stumbled to the bathroom.

  An hour later, he was suited and booted and in the incident room at Rochdale nick waiting for the machine coffee to cool to a mere 1000 degrees, and for Rob to arrive. As the drink cooled enough to sip, Rob came rushing in ten minutes late and full of apologies. At least he’d swopped his crumpled suit for a darker crumpled one that hid the creases better.

  “Sorry I’m late, boss …” he started.

  Vinnie raised his hand to silence him, too much to do; it would be penalty enough that Rob would miss out on his first brew – cum mouth-scolding – of the day. “No matter, let’s get that list finished and then we’ll sort Johnson out.”

  Two hours later, they had finished the list. Fortunately, everyone had been in, which was no real surprise as none of them worked, most were thieves, and the combination of the two traits didn’t usually lead to early risers. All had heard about the breakout. Most on both lists knew or remembered Moxley, but none knew ‘owt’. Vinnie believed them all, not because of his excellent detective’s intuition, but because it had been on the local news that morning that the prison service was willing to pay ten grand for information leading to Moxley’s arrest. It had apparently agreed to match the money Delany was offering to snouts, but to the wider general public.

  Delany had told him the previous day he didn’t see why the police should offer both rewards as it was ‘those lot’ who’d lost Moxley in the first place. He’d wished him good luck with it, but he had obviously pulled it off – the joys of being the SIO.

  They had just got back into Vinnie’s Volvo after the last address, when he heard Rob shout.

  “boss, the motor,” while, pointing at the windscreen.

  Vinnie looked to see a dark blue One series BMW about a hundred metres up the road in front of them. He’d recalled having to wait for it to pass his parked car before he got in. He fired up the engine and set off after it. “Are you sure?”

  “Defo,” Rob said, continuing, “As I was about to get into our car, I noticed it parked up behind us. About fifty metres back. Noticed the make and model, as it drove past.”

  As Vinnie accelerated hard, he asked, “Did you get a good view of the driver?”

  “Only for a couple of seconds, but it was front on. I’m sure it was Moxley, even with the disguise.”

  “What disguise?”

  “A wig, he was wearing a ginger coloured, long-haired wig.”

  “How do you know it was a wig?”

  “Well, apart from the fact that Moxley is bald, it was ill-fitting, skew-whiffed.”

  Vinnie told Rob to get on the radio as he concentrated on catching up. Ahead, the residential road they were on came to a T junction with the busy A58 – Yorkshire Street. He saw the BMW turn left in the general direction of Bury, and it wasn’t hanging about. “He knows we’re behind him.”

  “But how? Did he just happen past, and clock us, and how would he know who we were?” Rob asked.

  “I don’t know how he knows who we are, but you know my theory on coincidences,” Vinnie said as he braked hard at the T junction. Fortunately, a break in the traffic allowed him to turn without stopping.

  “Yeah, yeah, boss, you don’t have to say it but, if not, how then?”

  Vinnie didn’t answer him as he concentrated on his driving, he was a class-one advanced driver, but they were in a plain car with no ‘blues and twos’ to help them and Moxley had panic guiding him. They were approaching a major crossroad junction two hundred metres ahead. Vinnie saw the BMW turn and slide its way right into Whitworth Street, the A671, and then out of sight. By the time they had managed the turn, there was no sign of the BMW.

  “Damn, we’ve lost him,” Vinnie spat.

  “Where does this road lead to?” Rob asked.

  Vinnie was tempted to say ‘Whitworth’, but thought better of it, so said, “Out of Rochdale and over into the Lancs Police area.”

  “Won’t the ‘ring of steel’ pick him up?”

  “Let’s hope so Rob.”

  Vinnie knew there were several sites around the town that had ANPR (Automatic Number Plate Recognition) cameras situated, but they weren’t everywhere, so it would be hit and miss. The radio was full of chatter, as e
very cop in the area was searching for Tim Knowles’ BMW. Lancashire had been informed, and the police helicopter was en route from over central Manchester.

  Vinnie spent the next thirty minutes checking all the side streets off Whitworth Street in case Moxley had turned off as soon as he’d turned in from the major road, but nothing. He eventually gave up and said they should leave the search with the uniform patrols and head for the incident room. As he drove the short distance to the nick, Rob reminded him of his unanswered question.

  “If not as a coincidence, then how?”

  “Only one possibility,” Vinnie said, turning to face Rob, “he’s been following us.”

  “I was bothered you might say that, boss.”

  Chapter Twelve

  On the short trip to Rochdale nick Vinnie kept wondering why he hadn’t noticed Moxley earlier. He wasn’t surveillance trained or anything, but he was sure he’d have clocked the BMW if it had been behind him for any length of time. He was sure it wasn’t a coincidence as the address they had just visited was a real outsider; according to Jimmy the Jemmy, the bloke who lived there used to hang around with Moxley back in the day. That was until he’d died three years ago, said the new tenants. A fact Rob quickly confirmed over the radio before they’d left and, in any event, even if Moxley hadn’t known this and was visiting, why had he parked fifty metres away and stayed in his car. Vinnie’s Volvo would have looked like any other car parked on the street. No, they’d been followed, probably from the nick that morning, which would explain why he’d not spotted the BMW. They had only been to two addresses before the last one and all three were on the same estate.

  In the incident room, Harry Delany was about to start his SIO’s briefing to the ten or so detectives who made up his enquiry team. Not vast in number, he thought, though Delany started by saying he’d been promised more staff, but for now they were it.

  “Timed to perfection, Vinnie, would you mind bringing us all up to speed on where you are?”

  Rob took a seat with the rest and Vinnie joined Harry at the front and spent the next few minutes doing as requested. Harry then asked for each team of two detectives to quickly update all with their respective actions. Nothing significant came from this, so Harry turned to face a whiteboard behind him which had Moxley’s photograph alongside two others. Under this were the photos of Tim Knowles (deceased) and Bill Johnson. Turning back to the top row, Delany pointed to the two mug shots next to Moxley, and then spoke.

  “These two are James Foster and Brian Gregg, they’ve been writing to and visiting Moxley for some time now when he was in Strangeways, and have been ID-ed by the taxi driver as the two who sprung Moxley. They are petty crims with no real history, both alcoholic and socially inadequate. They have no friends we can trace, as of yet, and no known family, though enquires are obviously still ongoing.”

  “Was it their gaff that got torched yesterday, boss?” a voice at the back of the room asked.

  “Yes it was, though it was rented. We aren’t too sure why it was torched, but we do know it was deliberate. Si, can you fill us in, please?”

  A crusty old detective sergeant Vinnie knew as Simon Brett stood up and took over. He said the seat of the fire had been identified as the settee in the front room, and accelerants had been found in the base of its remains. However, as there was no sign of forced entry, their working hypothesis was that all three; Moxley, Gregg and Foster had fled together and set fire to the place in some anti-forensic strategy; perhaps, removing any link that Moxley had been at their place.

  “Aren’t they linked by virtue of the taxi driver’s ID?” a voice asked.

  “Of course, but we all know how ID evidence can be challenged. Forensic is harder to refute.”

  “What about the other prison officer, Bill Johnson; has he been shown Foster and Gregg’s photos?” the same voice asked.

  “No,” Brett answered, “we are saving him for an ID parade, once we nick them; it’ll strengthen the whole evidence that way.”

  Vinnie knew this was a good decision. They could still use the taxi driver on an ID parade, but if he’d already seen photographs, it would weaken any positive ID, evidentially. But if Bill Johnson picked them out, having not seen the photos, it would make the whole ID evidence harder to challenge.

  “That’s if they are still with us, boss,” Rob shouted.

  “What do you mean?” Vinnie asked.

  “The photo, boss, look at the photo of Foster.”

  Vinnie turned to look at the whiteboard, as everyone else in the room did, and then he saw it. “Oh God,” he said as he took in the image. “How recent are these pictures?” he asked.

  “Taken by the prison on their last visit to Moxley,” Delany replied, and then asked, “Why?”

  Vinnie pointed to Foster’s snapshot, and said,” The long ginger hair, it’s exactly the same as the ill-fitting wig we saw Moxley wearing an hour ago. Am I right Rob?”

  “Hundred per cent, boss.”

  As numerous groans echoed around the room, Delany brought the room to order. He told the team searching for Foster and Gregg to widen their search to include the fact that they both might now be dead, but not to make assumptions. He then sent everyone on their way and beckoned Vinnie to join him in his makeshift office. Vinnie nodded for Rob to follow and Delany told him to close the door, which he did, and then he sat at his desk. “This maniac is worse than we imagined.”

  “He’s also smart,” Vinnie said, before adding, “He knows without bodies, we can’t prove anything, he’d just say they are on the run.”

  “Unless we’d caught him this morning, still with that wig on his head.”

  Vinnie felt a pang of added guilt at losing him, and started to apologise, when Delany stopped him.

  “I’m not having a go Vinnie, you did your best,” Delany said.

  He went on to ask him about being followed, and Vinnie said they were sure Moxley was following them and had probably picked them up from the nick that morning.

  “Taking a chance wasn’t he?” Delany said.

  “Probably hoping we’d lead him to Bill Johnson,” Vinnie said, before pausing, and then swearing.

  Both Delany and Rob were staring at him. He explained, although he was as sure as he could be, or as he’d liked to be, that as Moxley had followed them from the nick, what if he’d followed them from the scene of the fire the day before? As the ramifications clearly hit all, Vinnie and Delany’s attention turned to Rob who was frantically dialling a number on his mobile. Vinnie relaxed as the call was answered and it became clear Rob was talking to Johnson in his hotel room.

  Rob ended the call, and spoke, “Well, he’s fine, moaning he’s bored, but okay. The only other concern I suppose is Jimmy the Jemmy, the love of Moxley’s life.”

  Vinnie had been thinking the same thing, and Rob went on to speak the end of his thoughts.

  “But his police alarm would have gone off if he’d had any dramas …” Rob said, before Delany cut across him.

  “There’s been a problem getting hold of a spare alarm, it’s not expected to be fitted until later today.”

  Vinnie jumped to his feet and asked Delany not to send uniform in case it made things worse for Jimmy, his address was only five minutes away. He ran to the stairs closely followed by Rob. It would be quicker than the lift.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Seven minutes later Vinnie screeched to a halt at the kerb outside Jimmy’s block of flats. He cursed to himself at the noise. He didn’t want to announce their arrival. Delany had refused Vinnie’s request not to send uniform because of the danger Moxley posed. He’d said an armed response vehicle would back them up, and they were to watch and wait until it arrived.

  Delany had been in an office too long. Vinnie and Rob had borrowed two local detectives’ stab vests and CS gas sprays, as they ran through the front office of Rochdale nick. They were booking in a local scumbag after executing a drugs warrant that morning. Rank still had its privileges, even if his v
est was a bit tight. Vinnie jumped out of his Volvo, unconcerned at its fate this time; he didn’t even lock it but turned to face Rob, who was closing the passenger door.

  “I’m going in. If anything’s happened to Jimmy, then it’s my fault. You wait for the ARV.”

  “Not a chance, boss.”

  “You heard what Delany said.”

  “With respect, boss, so did you.”

  He didn’t have time to argue. He could order Rob to stay outside, but that would have been very hypocritical, given the circumstances. He just nodded and said, “You’re a good lad, Rob.” Closely followed by Rob, he turned and ran across the uncut grass verge to the main entrance where he could see the door still hanging ajar,

  He didn’t wait to try the lift but took the stairs two at a time and was quickly outside Jimmy’s flat. He took a moment to catch his breath as Rob drew next to him. He looked at the front door, which was slightly open. He swore before pulling the can of pepper spray from his leather jacket pocket. He glanced at Rob, who was doing the same; he could see he’d noticed the door as well. He took an instant to listen, nothing. Then kicked the door fully open and ran into the hallway of the flat and into the front room. No one there.

  “Bathroom,” he shouted at Rob as he made his way to the bedroom. It was empty, but the bed had obviously been slept in. The single set of drawers were all open, with a couple of socks hanging out of what was otherwise empty spaces. He was joined by Rob, who said, “Nothing, but his bathroom cabinet looks as if it’s been emptied in a rush.”

  Vinnie swore again.

  “Looks like he’s done a runner,” Rob offered.

  “I hope you’re right, but why leave the door ajar?”

  “It was only just open, maybe a mistake?” Rob said.

  It could be, then Vinnie heard noises behind him. As he started to turn he heard someone shout, “Armed police, put your hands where I can see them.” He quickly explained who they were but noticed that the lead officer was still pointing his Glock handgun at him. He also saw his gun arm stiffen as Vinnie went for his inside pocket. He hesitated, as the armed cop was joined by a second officer, who was also pointing a weapon.