Three (Detective Alec Ramsay Series Book 7)

by Conrad Jones

  CHAPTER 34

  Peter Fletcher paid the driver and climbed out of the cab. The suspension bridge was illuminated against the night. From below it where he was standing, it seemed to dominate the sky. An express train thundered by along the viaduct on its way south to London and an Easy Jet flight roared overhead on its approach to John Lennon Airport. It was refreshing that after a surreal day, life in the big city trundled on regardless. He had had enough of the hospital and tried to sign himself out but the doctors and the police were adamant that he should stay. The doctors said that medically he should remain until the morning; the police were less vague about how long they would need him but he got the impression that they wanted to keep him indefinitely. It was only when he had asked to be discharged that he realised he wasn’t being treated just as a victim. When he had asked about going home his armed guard had scoffed. He heard him mumbling abuse as he made a call to the detectives on the case, who were elsewhere in the hospital and they had said that they needed to interview him under caution before he went anywhere.

  The armed guard appeared to be incredulous and a little bit insulted that he had thought that he could leave at anytime he chose to. The detectives had said that they would be down to his room within fifteen minutes but Peter had decided that he wasn’t hanging around. He changed into his clothes, opened the window and dropped down onto some freshly dug flowerbeds below. He had called his brother Paul but couldn’t get an answer. The chances were that he was in custody or if not, he had self medicated with a bottle of rum and was crashed out on the settee at home. It was late and it had been a long hard day. Peter decided to make his own way home. After a short walk through the hospital’s rear car park, he flagged down a taxi and asked to be taken home to their garage.

  When the cab drove away he felt saddened by the view in front of him. Fletcher Bros was in darkness and crime scene tape crisscrossed the service bay doors. It flapped in the breeze. The seriousness of their situation hadn’t sunk in until he saw it. He wanted to go to bed and rest his aching head and then wake up in the morning and walk across the yard to work. They had the same routine every morning. Paul would go over to the garage, switch on the lights, fire up the equipment and most importantly, switch on the kettle and the radio. Pete would fry a full packet of smoked back bacon, four rashers each on toast, red sauce for Pete, brown for Paul. He would take them over to the office where they would swig their tea and munch their breakfast while they prioritised the day’s workload. That wasn’t going to happen again for a while.

  Pete trudged across the yard and peered into the reception area. The floor was marked with muddy footprints, dozens of them. Fingerprint powder glinted on the doorframes and flat surfaces. He sighed and walked around the conservatory towards the house. The windows were black like sightless eyes staring at him. There was no sign of Paul being at home. Pete wondered if he was tucked up in bed snoring, or if he was shivering on a rubber mattress in a police cell. He knew that the police would come looking for him soon but it didn’t matter. Being home for a few hours would be enough. He just needed to rest in his own bed. They hadn’t done anything so bad that it was worth running away and leaving their lives behind. It would be better in the long run to face the consequences of their mistakes now. They had taken a gamble and lost. It wasn’t a disaster that was so great that they couldn’t come back from it.

  As he dwelled on things, a shadow seemed to move in his peripheral vision. He looked up at his bedroom window but it was empty, black and uninviting. There was something foreboding about the house tonight, something menacing and sinister. As he looked at the windows the darkness behind them seemed to deepen. It gave the illusion of shadows moving behind the glass. The harder he looked the deeper the darkness became. He felt as if someone was staring back, hidden in the shadows beyond the range of his vision. He blinked and tried to focus again but the blackness just shifted, teasing him, tempting him to come in and investigate. ‘Come and see, come on.’

  His home had changed from a warm and comforting sight to a cold and sinister one but he couldn’t understand the shift in his perception. He stared at the windows in turn. The two bedrooms and the two downstairs windows stared back at him unflinchingly. He tried not to blink in case they moved when his eyelids closed. His brain played tricks on his mind. As his eyes moved to the next window, the previous window seemed to come to life. His eyes would snap back immediately but the shadows would become still once more. He took the door keys from his pocket and studied the house again. It had been his home for years yet here he was like a frightened child outside a haunted house. Peter cursed beneath his breath and kicked himself mentally. The bang on the head had caused his trepidation. The doctors had told him that he may have concussion. It was a perfectly reasonable explanation. He had suffered the trauma of being held up by armed men wearing masks, being bashed over the head and rendered unconscious and then being traumatised by the news that their greed had led them to being linked to a gang implicated in drug dealing, people trafficking and murder. If he hadn’t been affected by it all then he wouldn’t be normal. Pete steeled himself against his fears and took a step towards the house. As he did, the darkness behind the windows deepened. The voices in his head whispered to him, ‘Come in, come and see...we won’t hurt you’

  CHAPTER 35

  Annie pulled her coat tightly closed and stepped into the night. The temperature had dropped a few degrees in the short time that she had been in the pub. She took a deep breath and savoured the salty tang. The sea air seemed to lift her spirits, filling her body full of energy. It was dark and the lights from the pub dissipated quickly as she moved away from the building. The sound of gulls crying drifted to her from somewhere further up river. She shivered and headed towards the bright lights of the main road. As she walked up the side street behind the pub, she saw headlights sweeping around the corner up ahead. Her skin began to prickle. Something didn’t feel right. She stopped and felt the urge to run in the opposite direction. Thoughts of Dalton Sykes being mown down were fresh and raw. She was trapped in a narrow street, high walls on each side. The vehicle picked up speed as it approached; the headlights dazzled her. The driver switched to full beam, which blinded her momentarily. Stunned by the lights she froze; her tired brain was further slowed by the red wine that she had drunk. She heard the engine growing louder, water spaying from beneath the tyres. Every sound was amplified by her fear. The lights seemed to grow brighter as it approached her, filling her mind with white light. Annie held up her arm to protect her eyes. She squinted against the glare. The vehicle changed direction. It moved across the road heading directly for her. Annie closed her eyes, her breath stuck in her lungs. Fear took over and she was frozen to the spot waiting for a catastrophic impact to come.

  CHAPTER 36

  Peter Fletcher suppressed his irrational fears and walked cautiously towards his home. The front door was to the right of the building hidden by a brick porch. Normally a nightlight illuminated the porch and the area immediately around the doorstep but it wasn’t lit. That was odd itself. It was out of the ordinary, unusual, not normal but then it hadn’t been a normal day. He ignored the voices in his head and the fear that nibbled at his mind. ‘It doesn’t feel right does it?’

  As he neared the house, the sound of traffic crossing the bridge drifted to him. That wasn’t unusual but he thought that he could hear an engine running closer to home; petrol not diesel. Most people couldn’t distinguish between the two but that was what he did. Engines had been his life since leaving school. He turned and listened to the darkness. It was an engine; he was sure. It was idling though, not travelling. There was a difference and he could tell from a distance which was which. He cocked his head to gauge the direction that the sound was coming from. As he listened, an express train from London approached the Silver Jubilee Bridge that ran parallel to the suspension bridge. It carried the trains eighty feet above the Mersey; the height meant that the sound carried, especially at night. The noise
drowned out everything. Peter waited until the train had gone, its sound faded to a distant rumble. He listened more closely this time. The petrol engine was running somewhere behind the main structure of the garage. They had a few smaller outhouses there, which they used to store MOT failures and restoration projects. Why there would be an engine running was beyond him. There was only one reason that made sense and that was car thieves.

  Peter glanced back at the house. The blackness behind the windows seemed to drift and float, changing in density. It was his mind playing tricks on him. His eyes couldn’t penetrate the inky darkness so his brain filled in the gaps. ‘Is it your imagination though? Are you sure?’ He wanted to go into the house and go to bed but he couldn’t ignore the fact that an engine was running on their property and he could hardly call the police. He looked at the house again and a shiver ran through him. Pete shook off the negative thoughts again and headed for the outhouses. As he navigated the rear of the garage, he could see the outlines of the engine sheds. They loomed up against the darkness of the fields beyond. Dark shadows against a darker sky. He stopped and thought for a moment. The engine seemed to be running constantly on idle and the noise was coming from the furthest building. It was a single garage with an inspection pit where there was an old Alfa Romeo stored inside. It was a runner but needed new suspension all around and three bushes replaced to get it through an inspection. His brother Paul was an Alfa nut and had insisted that he would fix it up in his own time. That had been two years earlier and all he had done was to remove the wheels and leave it on jacks. The more he listened to the engine the more convinced he was that it was the Alfa. It crossed his mind that Paul might be in there tinkering with his project, taking his mind off their problems. ‘Really...why is he tinkering in the dark?’

  Peter flicked through the scenarios in his mind. Some bad people had used them and their premises to do illegal stuff. It had all gone pear shaped. Maybe some of the gang had hidden in the outhouses and they needed a getaway vehicle. Maybe they were putting the wheels back on the Alfa so that they could simply drive away under the cover of darkness. ‘Or maybe the Alfa Romeo pixies were in there repairing it. Go and see...go on. You’re not scared are you?’

  His imagination taunted him. He was scared. Peter headed for the nearest shed to source a makeshift weapon. He felt for his keys and fumbled through them until he found the one that opened the padlock. They used the shed for none valuable bits and pieces that may have a use in the future. He opened the door and stepped inside. The air was thick with the smell of paint and petroleum. He knew the layout from memory; the position of every half full tin of paint and shock absorber were mapped out in his mind. To his left was a shelf where there was a heavy torch that they used to find things in the winter months when the daylight faded early. He felt along the shelf until his fingers touched the handle. It was there. He picked it up and switched it on, aiming the beam at the floor where it wouldn’t attract unwanted attention. The light was dull, the batteries weak, but it was better than nothing. Its weight was reassuring. He panned the beam around the shed and stopped when he saw a length of chain that had broken off from a towing rig the year before. He walked over to it and picked it up. The links were rusty but it would make a decent weapon. He wrapped some of it around his left hand and let the remainder hang loose. Armed with the torch and chain, he stepped out of the shed and headed cautiously towards the sound of the engine. He had only taken a few steps when a crushing blow to side of his head dropped him like a stone.

  CHAPTER 37

  As the vehicle approached, Annie stepped back against the wall but there was nowhere to go. Visions of Dalton Sykes flashed through her mind. She held her breath and waited for the impact. The engine roared and then suddenly seemed to grow quieter. Instead of a catastrophic thump, the vehicle stopped next to the kerb. The driver leaned over and opened the door. Annie nearly laughed in relief as she stared into the craggy face of her Superintendent, Alec Ramsay.

  “I thought you might be in there,” he said over the engine noise. “Have you had enough to drink for one night?”

  “It’s been a long day, Guv,” she said leaning against the roof. “You do realise that I have just crapped myself?”

  “What?” Alec frowned. His wrinkles deepened. The dimples on his chin looked like they had been carved into his skin. “Why?”

  “You heard about what happened to Dalton Sykes from the Drug Squad?”

  “I have heard but I haven’t heard the details,” Alec shook his head. He checked his mirrors to make sure that he wasn’t blocking the road. “I’ve come straight from the airport. My mobile battery is dead. What’s happened?”

  “If you give me a lift home, I’ll tell you all about it and you might even get a brew out of it.”

  “Jump in,” Alec smiled. “It’ll be kicking out time soon and I don’t want rumours of me kerb crawling outside the pub spreading through the nick.” He laughed and put the vehicle in gear. “They’ll be saying that I cruise around at night searching for young detectives.”

  Annie climbed in. “There’s no young detectives out here, Guv, just me. How was your trip?” Alec waited for her to belt up and then drove off.

  “Interesting at best. It was a sad succession of presentations about how to treat migrants when they land on your shores. They all have similar stories but no one has the answers yet.” He glanced at Annie but she seemed to be distracted. “Have you ever been to Malta?”

  “No, but it’s on my list.”

  “You should go. It’s a lovely island, not much vegetation though.” He added as an afterthought. “It’s just a big rock in the middle of the Mediterranean really, but the sun was shining and the lager was cheap.”

  “Who needs grass?”

  “Sheep.”

  “Fair comment.” Annie smiled weakly. She looked tired. Alec knew full well that she had been running on adrenalin all day. The intense pressure of an investigation fuelled them but when their working day was done and the adrenalin waned, exhaustion would hit. It was sudden and it was debilitating. He had been there more times than he could remember and knew that he would have to tread carefully. Alec remembered that when his wife Gail was alive, he would arrive home late, wrapped up in an investigation, his mind going around in circles processing the evidence and possible scenarios. Poor Gail, who hadn’t seen him for fourteen hours, would want to talk about her day, discuss plans for their time off and talk about their families and friends and what she was going to cook on Sunday. Alec could remember clearly how she would chat tirelessly, her voice nothing more than an irritating drone, a distraction from the jigsaw that he was constructing in his mind. Nodding in the right places, the odd smile and occasional ‘Yes, dear’ became an art form that kept the peace. Now that her voice was silenced forever, he missed it terribly. He wished that he had made the effort to switch off work from his mind and listen to her. Had he done so, she may well have been alive. Regret was a weight that he had to carry with him. He couldn’t fix anything because she was dead. How he wished he could turn back the clock and have his time with her over again. He would have treated her differently, cherished his time with her. Now all he could cherish was her memory. He left a comfortable silence so that Annie could settle before he spoke.

  “I haven’t come to give you a hard time. I know you’ve had a tough day,” he said. “I’ve had my ear bent at the airport. I’ve spent an hour on the phone talking to the ACC and an hour talking to a detective from Riga. That’s why my battery is flat,” Alec glanced at Annie as he spoke but she was looking out of the passenger window. “The long and short of it is the Chief Constable isn’t happy with the way the investigation is moving,” he said quietly.

  “He’s an ‘acting’ Chief Constable,” Annie corrected him sarcastically. “And more importantly, he’s a wanker.”

  “Agreed,” Alec nodded. “Wanker or not, he’s not happy. He thinks that we’ve lost control of this Latvian case.” Annie remained tight lipped. She
was angry and didn’t want to say anything that she would regret. Alec sensed that the day had made her volatile. He left it alone for a few minutes and then prompted her. “Have we lost control of this, Annie?”

  “No is the honest answer,” Annie shrugged and raised her hands palms up. “We haven’t lost control of it because we never had bloody control of it. The entire shitty case has been a runaway juggernaut from the moment Antonia Barrat called 999.” She snorted and shook her head. “I thought that I had seen it all, I really did. What the hell happened to the job, Guv?” Annie ranted. “We used to have a half a dozen gangs responsible for most of the drugs and prostitution in the city. We knew who they were, we knew all their names, their families, their friends and we knew what colour underwear they were wearing and what time they went for a crap. Okay, every now and again they might give each other a good kicking or someone would disappear but now we have Russians, Turks, Albanians, Estonians, Romanians and whoever I have left off the list, running around shooting one another willy-nilly like they don’t give a fuck about the consequences.” Her eyes were wide and her expression incredulous. “This Latvian mob is something else entirely, Guv. Dalton Sykes was scraped off the pavement today.” She tapped the dashboard with her index finger. “They mowed down a witness and a detective this afternoon in broad daylight as if they’re fucking untouchable!” Annie shook her head and took a deep breath. She realised that she was ranting but she needed a good rant. “I thought that the Russian mob was bad but this bunch makes them look like boy scouts!” She shook her head and pointed her finger at Alec. “You mark my words that they’re the worst that we’ve seen, Guv. I am telling you that I have never experienced such a bunch of arrogant merciless bastards in my career.” She paused for breath again. “I am sorry for going on, Guv but if the Acting Chief Constable isn’t happy then tell him to get off his fat arse and go to the mortuary. Tell him to go and take a bloody good look at the bodies that these bastards have left behind so far and when he has, then he can sit me down and tell me exactly where I went wrong!”