The Gated Trilogy

by Matt Drabble

  “You,” he said, motioning for a uniformed officer to come over.

  “Sir?” the young woman asked as she approached.

  “Jesus, how old are you?”

  “Sir?”

  “Never mind, I want to talk to a… Avery Grant,” he read from his notepad.

  “She’s in there, Sir,” the young woman said, pointing to a side office.

  Sutherland walked over to the open door. Inside was another young woman and he wondered again how old he must be when everyone seemed like a child.

  The woman was standing with a pensive look on her face. At first he took it for shock or maybe even guilt, but as he drew closer, he realised that she wasn’t looking at the body of Mrs Wilberforce. Instead, her gaze was fixed towards another target. She was staring through the window directly at Tolanson and she didn’t look happy.

  “Ms Grant?” he asked as he entered the office.

  She looked over at him and there was a flash of something that flew across her attractive features - not quite anger and not quite guilt but maybe something in between.

  “I’ve already given a statement,” she said.

  “That’s as maybe, Miss, but I’m afraid you’ll be giving it several times more today.”

  “Checking for any inconsistencies.” She nodded.

  “Something like that.” He nodded and smiled while making a mental note to add intelligence to her listing in his notepad.

  “Fine. I didn’t see anything. I’d fallen asleep in the conference room after a late meeting last night. Something woke me up.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know, maybe a noise of some kind. Anyway, I went out to see what it was and then someone hit me on the head from behind. The next thing I know, a police officer was waking me up and Mrs Wilberforce was…” She trailed off, burying her face in a clutch of tissues.

  Sutherland remained silent, knowing that she wasn’t grief-stricken. In his job he had seen the real thing too many times before to be fooled now.

  “Have you any idea who might have done this?” he asked after allowing an appropriate amount of time.

  “No.”

  “Did Mrs Wilberforce have any enemies?”

  “I’m afraid that I didn’t really know her all that well.”

  “I thought that she was your assistant?”

  “What I mean is that I didn’t know her outside of work. She was a very private person, Detective…?”

  “Apologies, Ms Grant - Detective Inspector Sutherland.”

  “Well, Inspector, like I said, we didn’t converse outside of office hours. Do you really think that she was targeted?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Well this is a campaign office. Isn’t it more likely that someone was looking for something and she stumbled across them? Perhaps Mr Tolanson was the target? Perhaps you should be talking to him?”

  There was an odd moment between them, almost as if the young woman was trying to point him towards Tolanson, like she had her own agenda. In that moment, Sutherland didn’t know what to say. The woman worked for the politician, and in his experience, most of the man’s followers were almost devout in their loyalty. Maybe Tolanson was testing him, seeing if he would betray his benefactor. Or maybe the woman was in the same boat as he was, looking to get out from under Tolanson’s shadow.

  “Inspector,” Superintendant Chambers said from behind ruining the moment.

  “Sir?”

  “I think that we’ve bothered this young lady enough for now, don’t you?”

  “Of course, Sir,” he agreed.

  “Ms Grant, you must want to go home and get some rest,” Chambers said to her kindly.

  “Quite right,” Tolanson said, joining the group.

  “Actually, Sir, I’d like to get back to work. I’ve no idea how this is going to affect us.”

  “Sorry?” Chambers asked.

  “In the polls,” she replied coldly. “I have a lot of damage control to do, Superintendant. I trust that we can rely on your discretion in this matter? I’d hate to see crime photos and confidential information finding its way into the tabloids.”

  Sutherland watched the exchange and was suddenly struck by a flash of inspiration. The young woman was playing a role here, he was sure of it. She was saying all the right things for her boss to hear but he thought she was just playing the part. It was a dangerous game to try and fool Tolanson and he would have warned her if he could.

  “I think that this can be handled… in-house, perhaps? I mean, it will have our full attention just as soon as we are able,” Chambers said, looking towards him for confirmation.

  “Sir,” he agreed with a curt nod.

  “But I can assure you that we’ll get to the bottom of this… botched burglary,” Chambers continued.

  “A lot of break-ins in this area recently,” Sutherland lied.

  “Besides, we’ve just got word about… well, about another case,” he said, looking over at the civilian, Avery Grant. “I’d imagine that will have to take priority for now, right, Inspector?” Chambers asked.

  Sutherland witnessed a flinch from Grant; it was almost imperceptible but he’d seen it. He looked at Tolanson to see if he’d caught it, but the politician didn’t look like he was paying much attention. Truth be told, the man looked like shit which was just as well.

  “Of course, Sir. I’ll get the details and head over there immediately. I hope that you understand, Mr Tolanson?”

  Tolanson looked at him like they’d never met before. The man’s face looked tired and aged. He also noticed that Tolanson was leaning on the back of a chair as if he was having trouble standing.

  “Whatever,” Tolanson snapped.

  The politician turned to leave and his knees dipped, but then McDere was there at his side to prop him up.

  “This has all been a terrible shock,” Tolanson said, covering, and then winked at Sutherland as though he was acting the concerned employer.

  Bullshit, you bastard, that was no act, Sutherland thought. You’re slipping and I know it and in that moment his heart was filled with just the faintest seeds of hope.

  CHAPTER 22

  CIRCLING THE WAGONS

  “Sir, with all due respect I think that’s a mistake,” Parker Craven said as the prime minister finished his rant.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Jonathan Knowles said incredulously.

  The rest of the room were all staring straight at Craven and he felt their objections - their objections and their eagerness to pounce.

  “It’s a mistake,” he reiterated firmly.

  “In case you’ve been living under a rock for the past month and haven’t noticed, Parker, Tolanson is right on our collective asses! If we’ve got a chance to bury him, even for a moment, in the public’s eye then we have to take it.”

  Craven sat still at the war room desk. He knew that these men all thought there was blood in the water and they were desperate to add to the chum, but he knew better. “Sir, we have to consider the angles here.”

  “What angles? Tolanson is neck and neck with us on practically every subject, except experience. How is he supposed to keep a whole country safe if he can’t look after his own people in his own house?”

  “A woman is dead, Sir.”

  “Are you growing a conscience, Parker?” Knowles laughed.

  “No, Sir, but we have to consider the down side of an attack right now. It could be seen as… well, exploitative.”

  “No it won’t,” Knowles responded confidently.

  “Yes, Sir, it will.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it bloody well is!” Craven snapped and the room fell silent.

  “Perhaps you gentlemen might give us a few moments,” Knowles told the others.

  Craven sat and waited until the room cleared. While he knew everyone’s name, he had little idea what most of them did around the place. In his experience there was nothing more dangerous than a room full of nodding dogs when you were in a
campaign. His advice had become less and less audible lately and Knowles was panicking. Now, the prime minister was only listening to ‘Yes Men’ and that was always a recipe for disaster.

  “I don’t appreciate you speaking to me in such a manner,” Knowles said once they were alone.

  “I’m not here to stroke your ego, Prime Minister, and we’re going to lose if you don’t start listening to me.”

  “Listen to you? That’s a joke! You’ve managed to take my campaign from an unassailable lead down into a coin toss.”

  Craven stepped hard on his frustration. He’d been trying to warn the man for weeks that Tolanson was a serious threat but Knowles hadn’t wanted to hear it. The prime minister had been more concerned with planning for a second term in office. While he’d been backslapping and making deals, Craven had been watching the opposition.

  Tolanson was no sacrificial lamb. He’d watched the man hold sway over mass rallies and his numbers were growing along with his popularity. There was a growing demand for change in the country and Tolanson was the right face at the right time. It didn’t matter what his message was, only that it was different.

  “Sir, please,” he tried again. “You have to listen to me. Going after him on a personal level will backfire, I promise you. I’ve been at this a long time, Sir, and I can tell which way the wind is blowing.”

  Knowles paused for a long time. “Everyone else is telling me to go after this guy. They all say it’s a miracle that we can’t afford to pass up. What would you have me do?”

  “We’re still ahead enough in the polls; it’s not a big lead, I grant you, but it’s a lead. I say we focus everything on the debate. We’ve got everything that we wanted for the debate, our timing, our setting. You bury him on live TV and there isn’t enough time for their campaign to recover before voting starts.”

  “That sounds like a mighty big risk to me.”

  “It’s the one chance we’ve got, Sir. You’re going to be standing right next to the man on national television. The watching audience will see the two of you side by side and the choice will become immediately clear.”

  “You think so?”

  “He’s going to look like a movie star up there.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “Yes, Sir, it is, because you’re going to look like a leader, like a statesman, like a prime minister. We’re going to make them all see that you belong up there. We’re going to prep you on everything and you’ll bury him with facts. We’re going to challenge every empty statement that he makes, every campaign slogan, every promise. He’s going to have to deal in real issues and give real answers and he won’t have any of them.”

  Knowles sat back in his chair thoughtfully and folded his fingers together. “You really think that he’s as empty as that?”

  “I know it, Sir. I’ve watched him, I’ve studied him, and while the crowds love him in person, come the debate there are going to be television cameras between them and he won’t be able to connect. You’re going to hit him with questions all night long and I promise you he won’t have any of the answers.”

  “All right,” Knowles finally sighed. “We’ll do it your way, but God help you if you’re wrong.”

  “If I’m wrong, Sir, then God help us all.”

  He’d meant the remark as a joke, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth it suddenly didn’t seem very funny.

  ----------

  Donovan didn’t do well with taking orders, he never had. He was far more comfortable giving instructions and sitting on his ass was never going to be an option.

  He waited until Sutherland was out of sight before planning on calling in a little backup. But the thought suddenly struck him that Tolanson had apparently been able to already compromise several of the Donovan Crew and he couldn’t risk calling in any of them, not yet at least.

  He stood in the cold and stamped his feet to try and keep warm. The street was expensive and he was worried that someone would notice him loitering.

  This whole thing seemed more than a little crazy to him. A large part of his rational mind told him to simply keep his head down and not make waves.

  The agreement with Tolanson had been good to him. He had risen through the ranks to command his own crew and now they were the largest in the city.

  He had made more money than he’d ever thought possible and he held more respect and power than he’d ever dreamed. The trouble was that it all felt like it was coming to a head somehow. If Tolanson won the election then there was no way that he could afford to leave any loose ends lying about. Donovan knew that if the positions were reversed then he’d take Tolanson out, along with any others that could come back to bite him. If there was one thing that he had in common with Sutherland, it was that he was no one’s idea of a hero. He would take a stand against Tolanson purely out of self-interest.

  He felt that he’d spent too long standing out in the open and was giving thought to leaving when the front door of Michaels’ house suddenly opened.

  A man exited, wrapped up heavily in an oversized coat and with a woollen hat pulled down low. Sutherland had said that Michaels was some kind of big-time politician but the man leaving the house looked far from anyone of importance. Nevertheless, he watched the man leave and then started to follow. He had a lifetime of surviving on the street and he could spot a man trying too hard not to be noticed.

  He followed the man at a safe distance for about a mile until he was sure that the man in question was Michaels. It was obvious that this wasn’t the first time that Michaels had snuck out of the house. The man was careful and cautious and checked regularly to see if he was being followed. Fortunately, this wasn’t Donovan’s first rodeo and he kept well out of sight.

  Finally, Michaels stopped and looked around. Donovan had read the man’s body language and knew that he was getting close to wherever he was going. He’d ducked in behind a couple of large industrial skips that were full of foul smelling garbage dragged from deserted buildings. The area was supposedly undergoing a regeneration but progress was slow, mainly due to people like Donovan taking a piece of the pie.

  He watched on, peering from around one of the metallic canisters, as Michaels decided that he was unobserved before ducking into one of the deserted buildings.

  Donovan knew exactly where he was and whose turf he was on. He pulled his phone from his pocket and punched in numbers.

  Gavin Fearns owned most of the derelicts around here and used them mainly for drug deals.

  “Go,” a voice on the other end of the line answered.

  “Fearns, it’s Donovan.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The buildings over on Hardwick, what are you using them for currently?” Donovan asked.

  “Why?” came the immediate suspicious reply.

  “Cool your jets, Fearns, I’m just asking.”

  The silence was long and ponderous.

  “Fearns?” Donovan prompted.

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  Donovan held his temper but only just. Fearns was several rungs further down the ladder than him but he was high enough to perhaps have his own ambitions.

  “You know, Fearns, I’ve never really taken much notice of your operation before, but now I’m wondering if I should start,” he said menacingly.

  “Hey, no need for that,” Fearns blustered. “Hardwick, you say? Let me think, I’ve got a couple of girls that do business out of there.”

  “Girls,” Donovan mused. “Anything special?”

  “Well…”

  “Well what?”

  “They are a little on the young side,” Fearns explained carefully.

  “How young, Fearns?”

  “That’s my business.”

  “Well your business is in my city, so how young? Don’t make me come ask you in person.”

  “Alright, dammit - underage girls, okay?”

  “You know I don’t truck with that shit, Fearns. Shut it down and shut it down now.”

 
“Right this minute?”

  “Actually, give me an hour.”

  Donovan hung up. His point was made and Michaels was obviously up to his old shit again.

  He stood crouched by the skips, wondering what to do next. Sutherland had been clear that he was supposed to watch and wait, but that wasn’t his style.

  It started to rain and he ran out from his hiding place, seeing the weather as a sign. He moved quickly to the derelict house and scouted around the back. Personally he would have posted some kind of a lookout for any illegal ventures, but Fearns obviously wasn’t that careful.

  Prostitution was a part of his business and one that he didn’t have a problem with. Hell, he even dealt in illegal migrant pussy when the money was right, but underage girls? Even he had to draw the line somewhere.

  The door at the rear of the building was locked but the wooden frame was soft and spongy with rot. It gave easily as he pushed his way inside.

  The kitchen stank of mould and the floor was slippery underfoot. He moved through the house slowly, listening out for sounds of life. Movement above him told him where the occupants were and he headed in that direction.

  He took each stair carefully so as not to alert anyone to his presence as he climbed upwards. There was the soft sound of mumbled voices coming from one of the bedrooms as he approached and he moved towards it.

  There were three other doors on this level and all were closed. He reached the bedroom door with voices behind it and placed his ear up against the wooden panel. Inside he could make out a man’s low gruff voice as well as the soft whimpers of a child.

  He braced himself against the doorframe and raised a heavy boot. He kicked the door open and found Michaels standing in shock at the intrusion. The man’s trousers were off and his belly protruded over his pristine white underwear.

  Michaels turned in alarm, his face as white as his underwear. Donovan looked past the man to the small girl cowering on a grubby mattress in the corner of the room.

  Donovan stepped forward with hands balled into fists. His anger was raging against the scene before him. He was a father to a secret child and in that moment he felt a father’s fury.