By the time Vinnie reached home and had settled down for the night with his weapon on his bedside table, he felt immense fatigue wash over him. Even though it was still light outside, he was asleep in seconds.
Chapter Thirty
Johnson stood rooted to the spot, dropping the newspapers he was holding. In that second of indecision hands shoved him roughly from behind, propelling him forward into the lounge. He heard the door slam behind him. He berated himself for the pause. Though understandable, it was probably his one chance to try to flee, notwithstanding that the owner of the hands was behind him.
He dug his toes into the carpet to limit his forward motion while still staring ahead; as gruesome as it was, he couldn’t take his eyes off it.
The owner of the hands behind him spoke, though he was under no illusions as to who was there, a fact that was confirmed on hearing the first couple of words. He shuddered.
“Surprise, surprise, Stench,” came Moxley’s voice.
Johnson couldn’t speak. If the visage in front of him hadn’t created enough terror to petrify him, then hearing Moxley’s arrogant tones certainly did. He’d never really understood before how people could be scared into total immobility. He understood now. Not only could he not move, he couldn’t speak, and was struggling for breath. He felt an icy hand of fear run up his neck and grasp the back of his head. This added sensation perversely freed him from his moorings, but as if Moxley had sensed this too, he felt a sharp spike dig fractionally into his back.
“Don’t even think about it, Stench, or I’ll gut you right here and now. You just stay still,” said Moxley as he walked around Johnson to face him.
Johnson saw the long-bladed kitchen knife in Moxley’s hand. At last, he found his voice, “But why this?” as he pointed to the grisly alien looking object on top of the television.
“You were never the most vocal in your job, so I thought I’d get Rob here to help you,” Moxley replied, before sniggering at his own perverse attempt at humour.
Johnson threw up and fell back on to the settee. He put his head in his hands as he struggled to regain any composure. He looked up to face Moxley for the first time and threw up again.
“What’s up, don’t you like my new wig?” Moxley goaded.
“For Christ’s sake take it off, you look hideous,” Johnson said, surprised by his own mettle. Anger was starting to replace some of the fear. He had genuinely liked the DC, Rob. He couldn’t begin to image what terror Moxley had put him through before he’d killed him. He hoped death had come before the scalping, or the removal of his tongue, which he’d seen as soon as he’d entered the room. Moxley had put the TV on – with muted sound – to make sure of it.
Moxley lunged forward and pushed the end of the kitchen knife into the side of Johnson’s left thigh, by what he guessed was an inch. Johnson cried in pain and as Moxley withdrew his weapon he saw about an inch of blood covering the end of the blade. He instinctively grabbed his leg as sharp, pulsing pain rippled through his thigh.
“That’s for not showing me respect, Stench,” Moxley said.
Johnson wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but he knew it wouldn’t be good. Clearly, Moxley was vexed at being ripped off, even though he’d got his money back. But if it was retribution he was after, he knew there was only one likely outcome. He tried reasoning. “Okay, Moxley, I probably deserved that, but let’s not get off to a bad start. I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”
“I tried having an agreement with you once before, remember, and you took your opportunity to rip me off.”
If ever Johnson had regretted his greed, it was truly now. “I know,” he started, as he let go of his leg. The bleeding had slowed considerably and the pain, although bad, was bearable and throbbing less. “That was a huge mistake, and I’m truly sorry, but you got your dosh back when you broke into my flat, so no real harm done.”
“Are you all trained to offer such heartfelt apologies?” Moxley asked.
Johnson didn’t understand the question so decided not to anger Moxley by asking what he meant. He changed tack. “How did you find me?”
“Easy, followed the Traffic Warden and his mate from his house earlier and although they didn’t come directly here, they disappeared off the street for a while and then I saw them drive off the estate. Figured such a precaution could only mean one thing. So, when I came back, I kept driving about and saw you leaving here about an hour ago and thought I’d sit and wait.”
It took Johnson a second to catch on, and then fill in the blanks. If, he’d only listened to Palmer and stayed in. He cursed himself.
“Okay, so you found me, why don’t we cut a deal?”
“You’ll have to be quick as I’ve got other tasks to do yet,” said Moxley.
Johnson didn’t like the sound of that, but carried on, “I know I wronged you, but killing me, if that’s what you intend, is only going to add to your problems, for not much gain. Instead, I could help get you out of the area. Take you to wherever you want, and then raise some cash off my flat to set you up. At the same time I can find out from Palmer, the copper you followed, as much as I can about where their investigation is up to. That way, you are safely away, and will always be heads up as to where they are.” Almost as he said them, he immediately regretted his last choice of words.
Moxley didn’t answer straight away. He looked deep in thought, Johnson wondered if he was considering the offer. Eventually, he did reply.
“Some people over the years have accused me of having a grandiose view of myself in the way I treat and view others. However, I’ve never seen that. I don’t think I consider myself too far above the norm; it’s just that the likes of you are so far below the bar, it’s untrue.”
This wasn’t boding too well. Johnson looked around for his options. There weren’t many. He would have to get past Moxley whichever way he looked at it, and first he needed to be on his feet. He slowly stood up as he persisted with Moxley, “Think what you want of me, I know you have never held me in any regard, but consider what I’m saying, it makes sense.”
He edged around Moxley a little who turned to continue to face him like a boxer in the centre of a ring. He still had the kitchen knife held forward in his right hand. Johnson came to a halt with the fireplace to his back, the lounge door to Moxley’s. He’d never been a brave man, but it was surprising how fear could embolden one beyond their natural essence. Keep him talking, keep his mind distracted. “Think about it, it makes sense, regardless of what you think of me.”
“If you’re worried I’m going to kill you here, Stench, then I can assure you I’m not.”
Johnson didn’t believe him.
“I intend far worse.”
That was all Johnson needed to hear. He grabbed a cushion from the armchair next to the fire and swung in front of him as he lunged towards Moxley. Before he crashed into him he saw the kitchen knife cut straight through the cushion before halting, and Moxley losing his grasp. Spurred on, he turned the cushion around and grabbed at the knife’s handle as they both collided with the closed door.
Johnson stood back a pace as he pulled the knife free of the cushion. He saw the astonishment on Moxley’s face. Empowered beyond what he would have ever imagined, Johnson kicked Moxley hard in the groin and watched him bounce off the door as he grabbed his injured genitals. Bent double, he stumbled back into the room. They swapped places.
Euphoria replaced abstract fear as Johnson felt adrenalin flood through him. The feeling of pleasure was far more than he could have imagined. He had never fought back in his entire life, until now.
“Back away,” he shouted. He had no intention of trying to restrain and capture Moxley; that was a job for the police. He would just leg it, and they would have to find him another safe house, though this time he would have his own conditions to ensure it remained safe. All this flew through his mind in an instant.
He watched Moxley take a step backwards and kicked him full-on into his lowered face. Johnso
n enjoyed the sound of Moxley’s pain as he fell backwards on to the floor near the armchair.
Johnson had his back to the lounge door, a moment from freedom. Moxley’s hands had moved from his groin to his face and was clearly incapacitated, which was all the head start Johnson needed to get out on to the street.
He paused as a thought ran through his mind. In the impasse, he could easily run the blade through Moxley and finish him off once and for all. After all, who would question his claim of self-defence? Moxley had attacked him, only good fortune had saved him. He could say Moxley still attacked him, even after losing his weapon, and the fact he was not of sane mind would be all the explanation necessary.
It really was time for payback.
Johnson heard the door behind him burst open. Before he could turn around everything went black.
Chapter Thirty-one
Vinnie Palmer was fairly sure he was dreaming. At first, he saw Lesley walk into the bedroom wearing that red satin dressing gown of hers, and by the way it was clinging to her – nothing else. It was the short one she used in the summer. He smiled and then stirred as he turned on to his side. A brief realisation that he would never see that image again for real hit him hard. He knew he was in that twilight zone of not being fully awake, or fully asleep. He knew it could go either way, he choose to relax; the images may not be real, but they were the more pleasurable option.
Then he saw his DC, Rob, walk into the bedroom, and Lesley turned to smile at him, ignoring Vinnie in the bed. Then they both left the bedroom. Darkness replaced desire in his heart and he saw Rob’s head sat on his cadaver’s lap, and genuine feelings of sorrow followed. For all his sins the man hadn’t deserved what Moxley had done.
Moxley; the way he was playing them, especially Vinnie, brought anger to the forefront. He was normally a fairly well-mannered and controlled person, but he was confronting the most abnormal of all the situations he had ever faced.
He remembered that he’d never made it back to Preston, but hopefully George Piper had returned last evening. Notes had been left, and he was sure that Preston CID would have kept their word and ‘kept the address warm’ during Friday evening. Then he remembered that slimy individual Bill Johnson; he would need seeing in the morning to find out exactly what he’d told Rob. As unprofessional as Vinnie’s conduct had been when they last met, it might pay dividends when he saw him next.
He hoped he remembered the last two thoughts when he awoke, as if he’d forget such important and obvious tasks. Then he realised, he was awake, as the background noise got louder and he realised his mobile was ringing and dancing around his bedside dresser.
He sat up and turned the bedside light on and grabbed the phone. He noticed the time on its display – six o’clock. He dreaded the caller was Moxley, but relaxed when he saw Delany’s name. “Hi Harry,” he started, as he cleared his throat.
“Sorry, for the early call, Vinnie. I was hoping to let you have today off; it is Saturday, after all.”
“Not a prob, Harry. I’d have come in anyway; nothing to stay home for is there?”
A short pause followed, then, “I’ve just had Doctor Greymore on the phone, all excited,” Delany said.
“Must be good, I mean she came across as a cold as an Eskimo’s salad in your office.” Vinnie paused for breath, as Delany carried on.
“I know she did, but she thinks she has found something worth our effort, and by the tone of her voice, it’s significant.”
“If it’s that important, can’t she just tell us, save us the hassle of obtaining a warrant? We can still write it up as an intelligence report, thereby hiding where it came from.”
“Depends on whether it’s something we will need to turn into evidence. If it is, then we will have to tread carefully. We don’t want to risk having it made inadmissible in any future proceedings.”
Vinnie knew Delany was right, that was one thing he respected in his boss; always looking ahead for the potential pitfalls.
“She has agreed to meet with us to discuss how to proceed,” Delany continued. “So that will be our chance to try to charm her if it’s not going to be used in evidence.”
“No hints?” Vinnie asked.
“None. Anyway, can you be in my office for seven?”
“On it Harry, see you then,” Vinnie said before ending the call.
Forty-five minutes later, Vinnie was sat in Delany’s office with three cups of machine coffee. Harry was at his desk and Vinnie in one of the two occasional chairs around a small round table that seemed too low to be of much use other than for putting leaflets and cups of coffee on. Delany had already been there when Vinnie had walked in trying not to spill the coffee, always tricky with three cups. They chatted for ten minutes until the front desk rang to say that the doctor had arrived.
Vinnie went to collect her and noticed how different she looked from the other day. Gone was the two-piece business suit, replaced by tight fitting jeans and a red satin blouse, which briefly broke his earlier dream. Seeming to notice his attention, Anne Greymore spoke as they climbed the stairs.
“We do wear normal clothes, too, you know. Especially at weekend.”
Vinnie felt a flush of embarrassment, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare, if I was, you just look …” Vinnie broke off, already regretting his choice of words.
“Normal,” she answered for him, but fortunately with a smile on her face. He felt his embarrassment deepen and was glad when they arrived at Delany’s office. Harry was by his doorway waiting to greet her. He thanked her for her rapt attention to the matter in hand and for giving up her time to come and see them. He showed her to a seat around the table.
“There’s a cup of coffee there for you, unfortunately it’s out of the machine as the canteen’s not open yet,” Delany said.
“It’s ten minutes old, so should be cool enough to drink by now,” Vinnie added.
Anne Greymore smiled, before opening her briefcase on her lap and taking out a manila file of papers.
“What have we got then, doctor?” said Delany. “You sounded pretty excited on the phone.”
“Please, it’s Anne, and yes, well, what I can tell you is that I didn’t find anything too interesting in all the notes from mine or the other doctor’s sessions with Daniel.”
It jarred with Vinnie hearing the doctor call Moxley by his first name. He knew health professionals preferred using first names with their clients, but Moxley barely deserved even his last name being used. Vinnie could think of many other monikers far more fitting. He kept his mouth shut, now was not the time for such sensitivities.
“I’m not with you, Anne,” said Delany.
“Well, I decided not to stop there. So, I went through the entire police interview transcripts from when he was processed after the assault on his cellmate, you know before his state of mind had been a known issue.”
This was very smart of her, Vinnie thought. Looking backwards through hindsight, and by the look on Harry’s face, he hadn’t thought of it either. “That’s very clever of you, Anne,” said Vinnie.
“Not at all, it’s common practice, but I’ll take the compliment. However, such sessions can be very revealing. The client is not under examination for his or her state of mind, but is for the actuals of the offence and their culpability.”
“Can you tell us more, or will we have to …” said Delany, obviously not wanting to say ‘the going to court for a warrant’ bit out loud.
“I told you two the other day that I want to help, and I do. Daniel is a real danger. I’ve taken legal advice and have been told that an application to access the files is far from guaranteed to succeed.”
Vinnie glanced at Delany, Anne had obviously done her homework and they needed to claw this back. Vinnie began to explain about reducing her information, whatever it was, into an intelligence report that would have a handling code attached to ensure only Harry and he had access to it. Anne was nodding slightly, but before Vinnie could carry on his pitch, she stopped hi
m.
“That’s why I’ve waited overnight to see you both on a Saturday, so I can speak to you in person – off duty as it were.”
“As much as we are grateful for your help, Anne, I don’t want you to do anything that would jeopardise your career. As much as I hate to put you off your stride,” Delany said.
Vinnie cringed, but knew Harry was only being fair to Anne.
“No, you don’t understand, although that is very sweet of you,” Anne said, before continuing, “What I mean is, even if you were successful in obtaining a warrant to look at the material, you would find nothing, as there is nothing to find. What I have discovered is my professional opinion and no more, reading between the lines of Daniel’s police interviews, so to speak. Looking at his answers anew.”
“I get it now,” said Delany. And so did Vinnie.
“Are you saying it would be of limited evidential value – with respect – as it is only your opinion, albeit a professional one?” said Delany.
“Pure conjecture, and as I haven’t been practicing for too many years, my evidence will be challengeable by defence experts who will no doubt be far more eminent.”
Vinnie doubted that totally, she seemed pretty sharp to him.
“All understood, Anne, so what’ve you got for us?”
“Well, my view is he thinks he’s been wronged by the system and those within it. Sees corruption all around with the exception, perhaps, of you two. Harry, you interviewed him ten years ago, when I understand he made no replies.”
“That’s right, Anne. I never even gave evidence.”
“And from what you’ve told me, he sees Vinnie as an honest Joe, which is why he claims to like you.”
Vinnie nodded.
“As you are no doubt aware, his primary targets are Dawson, Piper and Johnson,” Anne continued. “Dawson and Piper for giving false testimony, and Johnson for enhancing his dislike of him by ripping him off.”
Vinnie was beginning to wonder where this was leading, other than reinforcing what they already knew.
The Badge & the Pen Thrillers Page 13