The Third Rule (Eddie Collins Book 1)

by Andrew Barrett

  “What?” Sirius said.

  Eddie leaned forward, trying to catch the conversation over the waterfall that now worked against him.

  “Who’s on a provisional Rule Three?”

  Eddie listened.

  “For what? You serious?” He laughed for a moment, and then said, “He’s not here. Okay, give me her address. I’m gonna have to bring more men in, now I gotta find him before your lot do.”

  Sirius replaced the phone and then thudded his way back to the fire exit, and left Eddie feeling momentarily relieved, but ultimately afraid.

  — Six —

  “How much longer we gonna stay here?”

  Eddie shrugged.

  “There could be rats in here. Diseased rats. We could catch tuberculosis. Or worse.”

  “He was talking about me, wasn’t he?”

  “They carry rabies too.”

  “How can I…”

  “Vermin. Horrible things.”

  “The copper at Henry’s. He must’ve clocked me.”

  “I’m gonna scrub myself with Domestos when I get home.”

  “Do you think he was talking about me?”

  “Well I hope to Christ he wasn’t talking about me!”

  “Some fucking friend you are,” Eddie whispered.

  “On a provisional Rule Three? Nah, don’t think so. You have to kill someone for that. And we haven’t killed—”

  “Henry’s dead, remember.”

  “I know!” Mick paused, then said, “Whatever happened to your faith in forensic science?”

  “People have a habit of reading it wrong.”

  “So that’s where the Review Panel comes in.”

  “Okay, you win. I have no faith in The Rules or how they’re administered. Happy now?”

  “And I thought it would be true justice. But it’s open to the same corruption that’s always been there.”

  “After your headline tonight, he’ll be after both of us, so it doesn’t matter which one of us is on a Rule Three, we’re both dead.”

  “Whose address do you think he just asked for?”

  “Got to be Jilly’s,” Eddie said. “This is my address; Jilly’s was my last address. Makes sense.”

  “You should warn her.”

  Eddie shook his head, “No need. He’ll soon realise I’m not there and leave.”

  “Hope you’re right.”

  “He’s working with the police, though, getting information from them at least.”

  After a moment, Mick groaned. “This is getting too hot for me—”

  “Too hot!”

  “Ssshhhh, Christ’s sake!”

  “It began to get warm the minute we entered Henry Deacon’s house—”

  “Oh no, it was already on a gentle simmer back then; it began to get warm when you found incriminating evidence on Henry’s Jaguar.”

  Eddie flicked the envelope in Mick’s hand, “Well, it’ll reach boiling point if there’s any more revelations in there.”

  “I’m hungry, I’m thirsty and—”

  Eddie stood up and pushed the wheelie bin aside.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We’ve left it long enough. He’s gone now for sure—”

  “And if he hasn’t?” Mick stood, and even over the sound of the waterfall, Eddie could hear his knees clicking in protest.

  “Then we’ll find out which one of us is on a Rule Three.”

  “I get the feeling that Sirius won’t allow a court case, Eddie. Henry Deacon didn’t get one.”

  “How comforting.”

  Mick put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, gently turned him around to face him. He nodded at the gun still in Eddie’s hand. “What you still doing with that thing?” he whispered.

  Eddie slipped the weapon out of sight, into the inside pocket of his jacket. And now the orange glow of the streetlamp picked out the bulge in his jacket, highlighted it and shouted ‘I gotta gun!’ “I was going to dump it.”

  “You’re not Bruce Willis, Eddie.”

  “With all this shit happening—”

  “You feel safer, right?”

  “Yes I do. And don’t mock me; so far as I can tell we are outside the law, about as far outside the law as you can get. At least one of us is already on a Rule Three, so by carrying this, we have nothing to lose…”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing.” Mick stepped out into the yard, and cautiously moved closer to the fire exit. “And I hope you know how to use it.”

  Friday 26th June

  Chapter Forty Four

  — One —

  It was a roadshow outside Henry Deacon’s bungalow, even though it was two o’clock in the morning. There were no sirens, but there was sufficient noise from police radios, from car and van doors slamming, from police dogs barking and even from the force helicopter, to keep bedroom lights on, and curtains twitching, to keep smokers planted on their doorsteps in dressing gowns, watching the circus.

  At each side of the immediate scene, a police van blocked the road, blue lights piercing the night.

  From the helicopter, the perimeter of Henry’s bungalow and the expansive grounds in which it sat must have appeared like an extravagant dot-to-dot, with the reflective uniforms of PCSOs strung together every twenty five yards, forming a daisy chain in the darkness.

  The darkness, though, was being punched back as more and more lamps were positioned, and large diesel-driven lighting rigs were erected in the grounds of the bungalow itself, but also to the back where the chain link fence was, and even one in the woodland beyond.

  Two distinct factors governed the extent of scene protection around Henry’s house: firstly, it was a ‘firearms job’, something that always provoked an increased level of activity within the police service; one didn’t want to be working a scene only to be confronted with the armed criminal sticking a muzzle in the side of your neck – not good for morale, and gun crime was still deemed serious enough to protect the integrity of any evidence. And secondly, the place in question was the house of a prominent government minister’s son, which brought its own set of protocols.

  Of course, the police would like to say they give the same amount of security and attention to detail at all jobs, but that simply wasn’t so, couldn’t be so; lack of resources, though a cliché, was still an absolute truth. But the very prominence of this target, warranted extreme precaution.

  And this exaggerated reaction was evident in other spheres too. Somehow, the press had become aware of police activity at Henry’s house, and their vehicles began arriving; even those with satellite outside broadcasting capability were already parking up, sure to belch pools of their own light into the scene. Had the scene been the apparent suicide, or possible murder – with a gun – of some lonely old guy out in the sticks, he may be lucky enough to have one drunken hack roll up at his door, but here was a place where would-be anchors made a name for themselves, where special correspondents were born.

  Jeffery stood by one of the standard lamps with the total manpower of the overnight Scenes of Crime department for West Yorkshire Police – both of them. The trio were joined by DI Taylor. With him came the pair of officers who had initially been called to the scene.

  Taylor asked Jeffery, “Slept much?”

  “I don’t even know what day it is.”

  Taylor chuckled politely, and nodded to the officers, “Tell him what you told me.”

  “Me and Pricey were sent here after an anonymous call saying this place was being burgled—”

  “And we came in that way—”

  “Hold on,” Jeffery said. “Names please.”

  “Price and Wiseman.”

  “And what time did you get here?”

  Price pulled out his notebook, flicked through pages and said, “23:50.”

  “Right, carry on.”

  “We came in from the roadside,” Wiseman began, “and we split up, Pricey went around the back and I continued coming this way. I got to about there,” he pointed to a
spot occupied by another standard lamp that was on the driveway near a white Audi, thirty yards or so before the sliding French doors of Henry’s bedroom. “And I seen these two men come out of the sliding door—”

  “Was it already open?” Taylor asked.

  Wiseman looked from his DI to Jeffery and across to Price as if hoping one of them could help him out a little. No one did.

  “Carry on,” shrugged Jeffery.

  “And so these two men came out, saw me and began running towards the rear of the property. It kind of took me by surprise ‘cause to be honest I wasn’t expecting anything other than a false call good intent—”

  “Fast forward a bit,” Taylor said.

  “Oh yeah… well I shouted, and they started running, so I began running too, getting me gun out and shouting a warning,” he looked at Taylor, acutely aware of the policy surrounding un-holstering side arms, “and I got to the corner there just this side of the conservatory and that’s when the security light came on. Trouble was it was pointing more or less at me. Blinding me. I could make out both shapes still running up towards the grass. One of them might even have been at the fence by this time. Anyway—”

  “They shot at him,” Price said.

  “No, no, it wasn’t like that, boss,” Wiseman said in a hurry. “I saw the one at the back nearest me stop, and he was kind of fidgeting, and that’s when I saw a flash, I don’t think he was shooting at me, I think it more or less just went off.”

  “He was on the grass?”

  “Yeah… few yards onto it I’d say.”

  Taylor asked, “Did you go inside?”

  Wiseman looked at the ground.

  Price looked away.

  “I needed the bathroom, sir.”

  Price sniggered, and Taylor shook his head at both of them.

  “Did you discharge your weapon?” asked one of the SOCOs.

  “What? In the bathroom?”

  Jeffery closed his eyes, “No, prior to you visiting the bathroom; as you were giving chase.”

  “Yes, the broken glass… it’s what I hit. Sorry, sir.”

  Taylor turned to them. “You’ll need to surrender your weapon.”

  “Already done, sir.”

  “Okay, good; go Code Eight, contact your sergeant and write your books up. I’ll want your statements for the IPCC before you go off duty.”

  Price and Wiseman nodded at the Inspector then turned and walked away; Pricey elbowed Wiseman in the ribs and laughed at him.

  “Clowns,” Taylor whispered. “You know we got a taped confession from him, don’t you?”

  Jeffery looked blank, “Taped confession from whom about what?”

  “Him, Deacon. Confessed to killing Peter Archer and that nipper, Sam Collins.”

  “No,” Jeffery said, thinking about Eddie. “I didn’t know.”

  “Got it via The Yorkshire Echo.” He smiled, “They don’t have Laws to abide by.” Then, to Jeffery and the two SOCOs, “You got everything you need?”

  “Think so,” Jeffery said, looking skywards. “Wonder if it’s—”

  “Yes it is going to rain,” Taylor said, walking away. “I got a meeting to get to. Ministerial liaison officer and a man from S019.”

  “S019?”

  Taylor only nodded, turned and carried on walking, waving as he went.

  “Keep him out of my scene!”

  Jeffery looked at the SOCOs, “Get suited up.” Then he stood tapping his lip for a while as he thought more about Eddie Collins.

  — Two —

  Back in the darkness of the foyer, Mick continued to peer through the weathered glass and out into the street. Eddie came down the steps and stood beside him, “He kicked the door in. Caused at least sixty pence worth of damage. Bastard.”

  “We need transport.” Mick waved the envelope at Eddie. “I have to get back home and decode this thing.”

  Eddie nodded to the window. “It clear out there?”

  “Who knows?”

  Eddie opened the door. “Let’s go get your car.” They stepped out and crossed the road, watching all the time, expecting Sirius to leap out on them, expecting to see him following. But, aside from the revellers, there was nothing, no one.

  “I think we should walk. I want to be stone cold sober.”

  Eddie laughed, “Jesus, I never heard you say that before.”

  “I never felt so scared before.”

  Eddie’s smile soon faded; though he’d felt the gravity of the situation back in his foyer, it kept escaping him so that he was once more just a pissed up Eddie Collins with a shitty life to worry about. But now he had the Government following him, and the Government wanted him dead.

  Had someone offered him death only a few days ago when the vacuum cleaner was climbing the other side of his door, he would have bought the would-be killer a drink and even passed up the chance of a last request. But now they’d denied him that choice. They were going to kill him whether he liked it or not, and that made him determined to decline the offer, thanks awfully.

  In silence, they walked out of town and into the relative seclusion of the back roads leading towards the Charlotte’s Lodge pub. They were never confronted by gunmen, they were never challenged, they never heard any footsteps behind them, but all those facts didn’t stop Eddie shaking inside; in fact, the very absence of any threat made him ever more cautious. And it was this heightened sense of caution that caused him to stop dead in his tracks less than two hundred yards from Mick’s old Ford Diamond.

  “Hey,” he whispered, as Mick continued along the footpath.

  Mick looked around and walked back. “What’s up?”

  “I got a bad feeling about this.”

  Mick snorted, put a hand over his mouth.

  “What? What’s so funny?”

  “Let’s see,” he laughed, “we bust in on a dead guy, almost get shot by pursuing police officers, get followed by a fucking hitman, almost get caught by him, and you have a bad feeling about a peaceful walk to my car?” He dipped into his pocket and brought out a packet of cigarettes. “You are priceless, Eddie.”

  Eddie took a cigarette, lit it and said, “It’s been too easy. That Sirius fella wants us and he tried very hard to get us; he’s not going to leave us alone, mate.” He dragged on the cigarette. “He’s going to hope we step right back in that car of yours where he can nail both of us at the same time.”

  Mick peered up the street. Every fifty yards a pool of orange glowed on the pavement from the streetlamps. On the far side of the road was a parade of fast food outlets and a pub. Charlotte’s Lodge was set back from the road by twenty yards, illuminated by sunken floodlights. From here, Mick could see the overhead sign swaying in the breeze. Directly over the road, and only fifty yards further along, was his car, barely fifty yards from the petrol station. Mick flicked the cigarette into the gutter. “So what do we do?”

  “I’ll bet you a tenner there’s some geezer with a bent nose and a Glock sitting in a car on the petrol station forecourt watching your car. And his job is to—”

  “To stop us driving…”

  Eddie was shaking his head. “His job is let us drive away, to follow us. See where we go. He’s going to want that envelope first, and then who knows what he’ll do to us, but he won’t set us free.”

  Mick slouched against the wall. “Now what? What about your car?”

  “Same deal. Too risky.”

  “Taxi?”

  “Thursday night in Wakefield?”

  “Okay, so now what, steal one?”

  — Three —

  “You know how you said you were bad news and that I should stay away from you?”

  Eddie looked awkward. “I did say that, didn’t I.”

  Ros turned in her seat. “I should’ve listened to that advice.”

  “But you didn’t,” he said, “you came—”

  “Like whistling a dog, eh?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant you came and I’m so damn grateful.”<
br />
  “You treat me like shit, Eddie. In fact, on a good day you treat me like your cleaning lady, or your assistant, or your fucking sister!”

  Eddie looked at her, shocked.

  “It’s well after midnight, I feel like shit, and I want to be in bed asleep, not ferrying two drunks around. We have work in the morning.”

  “Henry Deacon is dead.”

  “But I wouldn’t go in if I were you. If I were you, I’d catch a train to a very remote place and lay low for a few years.”

  “Why?” he looked at her with suspicion, as though she knew something of his adventures of today.

  “You are a first class bastard, Eddie. And you know what; I only came out here tonight to tell you that to your lousy face.”

  He sat there, mouth open. “I thought you were my friend.”

  “Really? After you ran off and left me in that house by myself?”

  “I tried to call—”

  “Fuck you, and fuck your piss-arsed friend there too.”

  He stared at her.

  “Now get out.”

  “What?”

  “Get out!”

  Eddie reached for the door handle, opened the door. “You serious?”

  “Out.”

  Eddie stepped out of the car and didn’t even get a chance to close the door before she set off, wheels spinning, engine screaming, and the passenger door slammed closed all by itself. Mick flicked away his cigarette and came trotting up to where Eddie stood, dumbfounded. Together they watched her taillights grow dimmer.

  “She’s not keen on the idea, is she?”

  “I think we’re gonna have to get a taxi after all.”

  The brake lights came on. Then the reversing lights. Eddie and Mick looked at each other as she drew the car alongside. The window wound down.

  “Get in, Eddie.” The window wound back up again.

  Eddie climbed back in, and Mick took out another cigarette. “I’ll er, I’ll just wait here, shall I?”

  Eddie closed the car door and looked across at Ros. She had been crying; she was obviously close to tears now, but the puffy eyes, red lids… she’d been crying a lot recently, it seemed.