The Badge & the Pen Thrillers

by Roger A Price

Minutes later, Vinnie turned into Cromwell Road and could see the burning wreckage of the blue Nissan up ahead. A number of bystanders were starting to gather and he could hear distant sirens approaching. He had to slow to drive carefully past the blaze to ensure he missed any burning debris, which was scattered everywhere. After negotiating his way past the worst of it, he accelerated hard along the straight avenue.

  ‘Boss, boss,’ one of the armed cops in the back seat started, ‘it’s on the radio. The surveillance team have picked up their target in a Black VW Golf and are inbound from the other end of Cromwell Road. They are screaming for armed back up.’

  ‘How long is this road?’ Vinnie asked, as he floored the accelerator.

  ‘‘Bout a mile,’ the cop answered.

  The BMW almost took flight as Vinnie hit seventy as the road rose up over a small hill. But as soon as he cleared the brow and all four wheels were back on the ground he had to stamp hard on the brakes.

  Fifty metres ahead a number of plain cars surrounded a black VW which was trying to turn left into a side road, and they were forcing it to halt. Vinnie managed to bring the BMW to a stop in time as the cars ahead also stopped. He and his crew jumped out and all four of them drew their weapons as they approached the VW, which was only feet in front of them.

  Vinnie immediately recognised the front seat passenger - it was Quintel, with Blister behind the wheel. He also saw a handgun on the dashboard. He shouted, ‘weapon,’ as he watched both Quintel and Blister make a grab for it.

  Blister got to it first and pointed it at Quintel.

  Vinnie’s three armed cops moved in, but Vinnie held one back as Blister got out of the car and ordered Quintel to do the same.

  As the two armed cops cautiously approached, Blister spoke, ‘I heard the call so attended, saw the suspect so pretended to offer him a lift, I’m arresting him.’

  ‘You little shite,’ Quintel said, ‘how fucking dare you?’ he added. But before he could say anymore, the two advancing cops grabbed him, searched him for weapons and handcuffed him.

  Vinnie approached as two police vans joined them from up ahead. ‘Jack Quintel, I’m arresting you for murder, conspiracy to murder, God knows how many firearms offences and anything else I think of later.’ And then he told the two cops to take him away and they led him towards one of the vans, as he continued to shout accusations towards Blister. Vinnie re-holstered his weapon.

  ‘Good try,’ Blister shouted back as Vinnie approached him. He touched the remaining armed cop’s elbow, signifying to follow him.

  He stopped in front of Blister, who said, ‘Those fucking criminals will try anything to get themselves out of the mire, claiming I’m in on it indeed. As if?’

  ‘Yeah, nice one,’ Vinnie said as he pulled a plastic exhibits bag from his jacket pocket and put his hand out for Blister’s gun.

  ‘Oh yeah, of course. It’s Quintel’s; I had to wrestle it off him when the cars surrounded us,’ Blister said as he handed it over.

  ‘Very brave of you,’ Vinnie said, as he made the gun safe before putting it into the bag, sealing it and putting it into his jacket pocket.

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t give me a commendation and a promotion after this,’ Blister continued.

  Vinnie then punched Blister in the face as hard as he could before grabbing hold of him by his shirt and whispering in his ear, ‘That’s for Charlie and Christine, you bent pond life. You’d have sacrificed her, just as you were no doubt involved in the sacrifice of Charlie, just to gain brownie points with Quintel. You make me sick.’

  Vinnie then stood back and told Blister out loud that he was under arrest for conspiracy to murder and for misconduct in public office, and for being a shit. Blister didn’t answer, he just looked shocked.

  ‘I saw you go for the gun, which was idly lying on your dashboard,’ Vinnie said. He knew he couldn’t reveal anything from the line, nor could any of it be used in evidence. So he used what he had just seen by way of explanation, for now.

  Vinnie turned to the remaining armed cop and told him to take Blister away and lock him up.

  ‘But sir, don’t you know who he is?’ the cop said.

  ‘I know who he was; now just get him out of here.’

  Chapter Seventy

  Forty five minutes later and Vinnie was nursing his second mug of tea in the SIO’s office at Preston as he finished briefing Harry on all that had taken place.

  ‘Interesting you ended up on the quaintly named Cromwell Road, like a modern version of the English Civil War,’ Harry said.

  ‘Sorry?’ Vinnie said, and then regretted asking. He’d forgotten that Harry was a bit of a history buff as he then went on to explain about the Battle of Preston in the 1600s between Oliver Cromwell’s model army and the Royalists backed by the Scots. Trying to steer Harry back on subject, who to be fair was clearly starting to relax for the first time in days, for which he couldn’t blame him, Vinnie said, ‘What do we know about this McKnowle character? Other than he is one angry puppy.’

  ‘Well,’ Harry said, who took a sip of his tea before he continued, ‘Apparently, he was a senior member of the IRA’s ruling Army Council.’

  Vinnie knew he was an ex-terrorist but little more. ‘Well ok, but what’s his beef with McConachy?’

  Harry said he’d had one call from Major Crompton and was expecting a second, and then reminded Vinnie that Mathew McConachy was the First Minister of Northern Ireland.

  ‘That’s obviously why Christine and her crew were there. He’s the bloke she has been doing her investigative documentary about,’ Vinnie said.

  ‘Quite. But what Christine doesn’t – and can’t know – is that according to the Major, McConachy is not only suspected of being the ASU Commander on that fatal ambush in West Belfast twenty odd years ago, when McKnowle was left in the lurch; but that he then went on to take over from him within the IRA’s top brass, and led the organisation into the peace process.’

  Vinnie nodded and said, ‘No wonder he wanted McConachy dead, all that bitterness. But you said, “not only” is there more?’

  ‘I’ll come to that, but obviously as he wanted McConachy dead that’s why he hired Quintel and Jason; he had to use unknown assassins. Carstair and Reedly were just for starters, though it appears that their, or should I say Reedly’s investigation, was straight.’

  ‘I should think so; the bastards were about to murder an innocent man before the SAS intervened.’

  ‘And his family, according to the major, if McKnowle had got his way,’ Harry added.

  Vinnie sat back in his chair and considered just how lucky they had been today, before he remembered what McConachy had said to McKnowle before he was taken away in the ambulance. He reminded Harry of it.

  ‘Perverse, isn’t it? Everything McKnowle thought that McConachy had become was wrong. They were on the same side but McConachy’s approach was just more subtle.’

  ‘True,’ Vinnie said, adding, ‘plus, I think he is obviously enjoying the power kick in being the First Minister.’

  ‘Let’s see how long that lasts once his real aims are aired via Christine’s programme.’

  ‘Should prove interesting viewing,’ Vinnie said. He then asked Harry what Darlington thought.

  ‘He hasn’t got the whole story yet, but as you can imagine he’s well-relieved, he should be here soon.’

  ‘And what about that dirty bastard, or should I say, the soon to be ex-Chief Inspector Russell “Blister” Sharpe. Have we got enough evidence to charge him?’

  As you know we can’t use phone tap intelligence in court, but I think we’ll have plenty. He’s already started to sing, trying to say Quintel was blackmailing him,’ Harry said.

  Vinnie knew that was a good start; Blister was admitting his actions, so they just had to prove the real motive. A quick look at his bank account should help do that.

  Then Harry’s desk phone rang and Vinnie drained his mug as Harry listened for several seconds, before thanking th
e caller and putting the phone down. ‘Looked serious?’ Vinnie said.

  ‘It was. That was Crompton. He’s been granted permission to tell us officially why McKnowle was so extra bitter towards McConachy.’

  ‘The “not only” bit?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Vinnie thought he’d already heard reason enough, but let Harry elaborate.

  ‘Mathew McConachy is Bobby McKnowle’s brother,’ Harry started.

  Vinnie was shocked.

  ‘According to Crompton they were dead rivals within the IRA which is probably why McKnowle went on that fatal job, just to give his brother who was leading it, grief.’

  ‘So is he some sort of step-brother?’ Vinnie asked.

  ‘Apparently not. Blood. But soon after McKnowle went into his Locked-in Syndrome, McConachy was promoted and could obviously see the way things were going, so changed his name by deed poll in 1998 before the Peace Process was signed. Crompton says he wanted to distance himself from his terrorist past.’

  ‘Crafty bastard,’ Vinnie said.

  ‘Indeed,’ Harry said, adding, ‘It’s on public record, but just not obvious, it was forgotten about during the transition from armed struggle to peace. But it’s there if anyone cares to look.’

  ‘That would have just made McKnowle worse, no doubt,’ Vinnie said.

  ‘And he’s had twenty odd years to fester on it.’

  They then agreed that Vinnie could tell Christine this last bit, as it was on public record, but would have to hold back the bit about McConachy being the ASU Commander on that fatal evening. That couldn’t be proved, openly. Then Harry told Vinnie to get off home; he could wait until tomorrow before all the post arrest paperwork needed to be started. He’d already instructed two interview teams who had made a start on Quintel and Blister. McKnowle would have to wait until he was discharged from hospital of course.

  Vinnie thanked his boss, and then put a quick call into Christine before leaving. She told him that Paul had dropped her off before heading to the airport, and she was relieved to hear of Quintel’s arrest, but shocked to hear of Blister’s. ‘Look, I know you are dead busy, but I could do with seeing you tonight,’ he said. He sensed a rejection coming from the pause that followed, so added, ‘Two reasons, both very important.’

  ‘Go on,’ she said.

  ‘One, that I need to buy you that dinner, and to avoid confusion I’ll be treating it as a date.’

  ‘You will, will you? Ok. But the second reason better be as good.’

  ‘I think I have a superb ending for your programme, which you are going to want to hear, but not over the phone.’

  Christine agreed, but said they should meet soon, as in a couple of hours’ time, as she would probably have to go back to work after they’d eaten. He agreed and ended the call, and then remembered he didn’t have a car, well, not one that was drivable. He turned back to face Harry. ‘Just one last favour?’

  HIDDEN

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter One

  The watery sun was low in the sky, and although still warm, had lost its earlier ferocity and would be gone altogether in a couple of hours. Vinnie Palmer swapped cheeks on his sun lounger and turned to his left to face Christine. He had been stuck in the same position for too long, as he’d surveyed the yellow fire plane make its last practice run of the day before landing gracefully on the water in the Porta Pollensa bay. He’d watched as it chugged to its seaside hangar, before its engines cut and the displaced waters ebbed and flowed in a slowing rhythm.

  He had to squint to shield his eyes from the glare of the lateral sun, which flashed off the peaks of the water’s ripples. Even though it was now more pink and orange than yellow or gold. His focus switched to Christine and he could see her chest rising and falling, accompanied by the odd murmur. It was a shame to disturb her, but he knew it was time to get going. The beach closed at 5 p.m. this time of year to allow for maintenance before the light went. Plus, his backside was starting to really ache.

  Beyond Christine’s lounger stretched a further 20 metres of beach before a thick copse of pine trees marked out a natural perimeter. Vinnie noticed that the rest of the beach was now empty. His gaze paused on the treeline as fast movement within the copse caught his attention and brought his vision into sharp focus. He leaned forward and then placed his feet on the sand at the side of his lounger, to get a better look. Nothing. He scanned up and down, still nothing. Perhaps he was mistaken? Cops were good at seeing and recognising things others might miss, but they were also good at over-interpretation.

  He glanced behind them — inland — but could see nothing. The only sounds were the exquisite rhythmic swish of the incoming tide from the Mediterranean Sea. He started to relax and turned to grab his towel from the back of his lounger before deciding to take a closer look. He needed to get up, anyway.

  Grateful for the chance to stretch his back and relieve his numb bum, he ambled over to the treeline beyond Christine, noticing that she was still snoozing as he passed her, though the murmurings were becoming more frequent — she was starting to stir. At the treeline Vinnie still couldn’t see anything moving, though the copse was thick with tall pine trees only a few feet apart with dense gorse vegetation in between, testament to the Spanish rain that visited during the winter months.

  He glanced at the inland trees as he walked back to the sun loungers, but saw nothing. He was supposed to be on holiday, it was time to switch off. In fact, it was his first real holiday in years. When he was married to Lesley she hated beach holidays and there was never any compromising with her. It was museums and walks, or nothing. Not that he minded the odd infusion of culture or the occasional pointless stroll, but when you’d worked all year as a busy detective inspector… all he really wanted to do was enjoy the three Ss.

  This was the first time he and Christine had been away; in fact, they’d o
nly been dating a few weeks so he’d only enjoyed the sun and the sangria so far. Though to be fair, it was only day one. Still six days — and nights — to go. He shook the thought from his mind before he embarrassed himself; swimming shorts only provide so much protection.

  He reached the sun loungers and Christine muttered, ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Quarter to five,’ Vinnie answered, as he pulled his T-shirt from the upright of his sun bed and started to pull it over his head. He turned away from the sun as he did so.

  ‘I’ll make a move, what time does the beach close?’ she asked.

  ‘Five,’ Vinnie answered, as his head started to break loose from the grip of the T-shirt’s neckband. He must have put on a few pounds. Though he never truly understood why neckbands became tighter when pulled over your head. If you put on weight then shirt collars became tighter around the neck, for obvious reasons, but heads surely didn’t get fatter; or did they?

  It occurred to Vinnie that he must be starting to switch into holiday mode, if all his mind could think of to occupy itself was such inane trivia. It made a change from what it usually had to contend with when he was in the middle of a murder investigation. Definitely a good sign.

  It also told him how relaxed he was in Christine’s company. He’d known her professionally for a few months now. They’d first met properly when chasing the escaped murderer Daniel Moxley, and then again chasing around after the twisted ex-IRA terrorist McKnowle, in Preston. It was shortly after that job, when he’d caught the bad guys, and Christine received the best TV ratings of her career with the documentary that followed, that he’d asked her out proper. And here they were, five months later.

  Vinnie’s eyes closed as his head popped through his T-shirt’s neckband, he’d no idea why; an involuntary thing. But before he could open them he felt hot sticky fluid spray across his face. He also heard a shrill scream right in front of him.

  Eyes wide open, he could see a young woman dart from the trees, which were only a couple of feet in front of him, but before he could react she was off down the beach at an impressive pace. He was about to go after her when he realised that what was on his face smelled metallic. It was blood; he knew that even before his dabbing fingers confirmed it. He then heard a second scream, this time coming from Christine, as she shot to her feet.