The Jackdaw

by Luke Delaney

  ‘No,’ she agreed, ‘but it could hurt it badly – in the short term at least. At the moment it’s like an accidental work-to-rule and it’s having an effect. It’s tipped the balance into the negative which means the money’s not there to be taxed and that makes the government nervous.’

  ‘Well, if it brings the government down it’ll be their own fault for relying on a bunch of self-serving money grabbers.’ The phone on his desk rang before Sally could argue. He snatched it up. ‘DI Corrigan.’

  ‘Boss,’ Jesson’s voice told him. ‘I’ve got Jeremy Goldsboro on the line wanting to speak with you. Shall I put him through?’

  ‘No,’ Sean barked. ‘I haven’t got time for tea and sympathy with victims. Put him in touch with whoever’s taking care of family liaison. I’m trying to run an investigation here.’

  ‘There isn’t a family liaison officer yet,’ Jesson argued.

  ‘Then put him through to Victim Support.’ Sean tried not to shout. ‘Just don’t put them through to me.’ He slammed the phone down and sat heavily in his chair. ‘What’s with these people wanting updates all the time?’ he complained.

  ‘Well, we’re not in Peckham any more,’ Sally reminded him. ‘Some of the people we deal with now actually have a fairly high opinion of the police,’ she added somewhat sarcastically, ‘and they all have high-powered jobs or are employed by powerful corporations. They’re not used to not knowing what’s going on – not used to not being in control. They’re not going to accept being kept in the dark until we deem it necessary to tell them anything. It’s just not going to happen.’

  ‘Yeah, well I’ve got better things to do than chat to victims on the phone all day,’ he told her. ‘So they’re gonna have to get used to it.’ DC Cahill appeared at the door before Sally could reply. ‘What is it?’ Sean asked impatiently.

  ‘Got the boyfriend of Georgina Vaughan on the phone, guv’nor,’ Cahill answered. ‘Wants an update on the investigation.’

  Sean threw his arms up in the air. ‘You must be fucking joking,’ he called out loud enough for people in the main office to look up.

  ‘I’ll take it,’ Sally told them. ‘I feel a woman’s touch may be required.’

  ‘Unbelievable,’ Sean continued to complain as he watched Sally follow Cahill out. Why couldn’t these people leave him alone? Just leave him alone to do what he needed to do. He regretted ever handing them his business card.

  Jackson sat in the darkness, more scared than he’d ever been in his life before, the silence and stillness of the room he felt around him even more terrifying than the first time he’d met with The Jackdaw – when he’d ended up looking down both barrels of a shotgun. The hood over his head was beginning to become unbearably stifling. His hands and feet had been left unsecured – he could pull the damn thing off any time he liked – but the man who’d brought him here, the man he’d named The Jackdaw for the good of the story, had told him to leave it on until he returned, that it was a test of whether he could trust him. Jackson had asked him where he was going and why he was leaving, but the man never replied. There was just the sound of soft footsteps and then a door closing. Could he even know for sure that he’d really been left alone? For all he knew the bastard could be standing only feet away, shotgun at the ready to blow his head off the second he betrayed his trust and removed the hood. If he took the hood off and The Jackdaw was in front of him – not wearing his mask – he wouldn’t be allowed to live for long. No. He’d keep the hood on until he was told otherwise.

  The sound of the door creeping open chased his thoughts away, but not his fears, as the soft footsteps moved towards him. The next thing he knew he was blinking against the light, holding his hands in front of his face to ward off the worst of the brightness, trying to see where the other man was in the room. Through his squinted eyes he could see he was back in the same white room as before – the same table covered in equipment, the same black bin liners over the windows. After a few seconds his sight had recovered enough to see the man who’d brought him here move across the room and sit casually on the table with the equipment, laying the shotgun he’d been carrying down by his side.

  ‘I want to thank you for coming to meet me this morning,’ he told Jackson in the dreadful voice he’d made his own. ‘I appreciate how busy you must be.’

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ Jackson managed to reply, his eyes never leaving the shotgun. ‘Where did you go, by the way – after you brought me here? Why did you leave me alone?’

  ‘I had something I had to do,’ he answered. ‘Something that couldn’t wait.’

  The curiosity and tenacity that made Jackson such a successful journalist began to resurface. ‘Like what?’ he pushed.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,’ The Jackdaw replied. ‘For your own good.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Jackson played along. ‘Then perhaps you can tell me where I am?’

  ‘It would be foolish of me to tell you and dangerous for you to know.’

  ‘Then perhaps you can tell me why I’m here?’ Jackson persevered.

  ‘I read your piece in your newspaper today.’ The dark figure seemed to ignore him. ‘The piece you wrote about me.’

  Jackson’s heart sank. Was that why he’d been lured here instead of just speaking on the phone – because the man he wanted the world to call The Jackdaw didn’t like what he’d written about him and now he was going to make him pay? But then he remembered he was neither bound nor gagged.

  ‘You read it?’ Jackson asked. ‘And … what did you think?’

  The man in black stood and began to slowly pace around the room, leaving the shotgun behind on the table. ‘I thought it was very … fair,’ he answered after a while. ‘Although I thought you dwelled on my unfortunate but necessary acts of violence too much. I suppose it’s what the people have been conditioned to demand.’

  ‘It sells papers,’ Jackson boldly replied.

  ‘My message will sell papers,’ the man contradicted him, his electronic voice a little more urgent and passionate. ‘Your interviews with me will sell papers. You do not need to dwell on such unpleasant things – things I do not for my pleasure, but because they have to be done to make anyone take notice of us – the people.’

  ‘I understand,’ Jackson lied. ‘I’ll do better next time.’

  ‘Ah. Next time. Next time.’

  Jackson sensed doubt in the man’s distorted voice. ‘There will be a next time, won’t there?’ he asked.

  ‘That, Mr Jackson, depends on the public mood. If I no longer speak for the people, then I can’t carry on.’

  ‘The people are still with you,’ Jackson encouraged him. ‘The public mood is still with you. Trust me.’

  ‘Have I not gone too far though?’ he asked. ‘Have I not crossed the line of what is acceptable to most people? Tell me, Mr Jackson – what is the mood of the nation?’

  ‘I don’t understand your doubts,’ Jackson told him. ‘No one’s crying over a few bankers and why should they? You’re not doing anything a significant proportion of the population wouldn’t like to do. They just don’t have the courage that you do.’

  ‘Courage. Is that what it is?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jackson urged him. ‘You’re The Jackdaw. The people admire you.’

  ‘Maybe,’ the man behind the balaclava and strange voice answered without conviction.

  ‘Definitely,’ Jackson kept going.

  The dark figure walked back to the table and sat next to the shotgun before speaking again. ‘Are you telling me I should take more people, Mr Jackson? Hold more trials?’

  ‘I can’t tell you anything,’ Jackson replied. ‘That would be … unprofessional of me. I’m just saying …’ He let it hang.

  ‘I see. If you wouldn’t mind,’ he told him, pushing himself off the table and tossing him the hood. ‘Time to get you back, Mr Jackson. I have much to do and less time to do it in than I’d hoped for.’

  ‘Less time?’ Jackson picked up on it. ‘How s
o – less time?’

  ‘I’ve decided to move my schedule forward,’ he explained. ‘I fear the time available to achieve what I set out to achieve is now more limited than I thought. I must strike these final blows before I …’

  ‘Before you what?’ Jackson asked, wide-eyed.

  ‘I can’t tell you. Not yet.’

  ‘Then can you tell me why you have less time than you thought?’

  He breathed in deeply before answering. ‘DI Corrigan concerns me.’

  ‘Corrigan?’ Jackson almost laughed.

  ‘I researched his background,’ The Jackdaw explained. ‘His previous cases. Persistent, isn’t he? Not a man to give up until he gets what he wants.’

  ‘Don’t worry about his previous cases,’ Jackson tried to reassure him. ‘They were all lunatics and losers just waiting to be caught. You’re different. Very different.’

  ‘All the same,’ the dark figure insisted, ‘he represents a danger to my plans. Things will have to be moved forward. Now, Mr Jackson, if you would be so good.’ He lowered his head, his mirrored sunglasses looking at the hood in Jackson’s lap.

  Jackson lifted it then hesitated for a second. ‘How do you know?’ he asked. ‘How do you know I didn’t take this off – when you left me alone?’

  ‘Because, Mr Jackson, I trust you. If I didn’t, you’d already be dead.’

  Sean walked quickly through the main entrance of Guy’s Hospital and headed towards the food court, the type that had sprung up in every major hospital around the country in the last few years. Early lunchtime and it was already busy enough to make him want to turn around and flee, but he’d promised to meet Kate and discuss the situation his latest investigation had put them in. He passed the more fashionable and therefore more crowded chain outlets and made his way to a far less popular self-service café in the far corner where he knew Kate would already be waiting for him. He found her easily enough, sitting alone away from the crowds, and bent to kiss her on the lips as she looked up to acknowledge him.

  ‘How’s it going?’ he asked her as he sat. ‘You made it to work then.’

  ‘I did,’ she answered, but didn’t sound happy, ‘and the girls made it to school too, with their police escort.’

  ‘Oh,’ Sean answered. ‘It’s just a precaution – to stop you worrying about anything. This man I’m after, he’s no threat to any of us. He mentioned my name, that’s all. It means nothing.’

  ‘Christ, Sean,’ she asked, her voice more worried than hostile. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Sure I’m sure,’ he reassured her. ‘They don’t come after cops or their families, even the really bad ones. It just doesn’t happen. You know that.’

  ‘It happened to Sally,’ she reminded him. ‘A bad one came after her. She was lucky to survive. Remember?’

  ‘Of course I remember,’ he told her, ‘but that one was … different.’

  ‘Maybe this one is different,’ Kate argued.

  ‘No,’ Sean dismissed the possibility. ‘Sebastian Gibran was the rarest of breeds: the closest thing you could get to pure evil. Perfect childhood, power, wealth, beautiful wife and family, yet he chose to kill – because he thought it was his right to. It made him feel like a god.’

  ‘I don’t know, Sean,’ she told him, looking down at her pre-packed tuna salad. ‘Sometimes I feel like these monsters you hunt are getting ever closer to our front door. Like they’re somehow drawn to you.’

  ‘They’re not,’ he promised her. ‘Look, this one’s not like that. He’s just trying to throw me off balance – maybe even get me to hand the investigation to someone else, all of which probably means I’ve got him worried, which means I’m getting closer. If he was going to come after me or my family do you really think he would have mentioned my name – warned us? He’ll know that you and the kids will have a police watch now. He won’t be stupid enough to try and get close, and even if he is, we’ll have people waiting for him. He’s just trying to exert some kind of control. Right now he’s probably feeling a bit like a rat in a barrel. Saying this crap about me makes him feel better.’

  ‘You sure?’ Kate asked, not letting her eyes leave his. ‘You absolutely sure he’s no threat to us – to you?’

  ‘Completely,’ he reassured her and believed it. ‘Listen, you just got spooked last night when this joker mentioned my name, and me behaving like an arsehole didn’t help.’

  ‘Jesus,’ she answered, trying and failing to suppress a smile. ‘The look on everyone’s faces. Oh my God, I was so embarrassed.’

  Sean smiled too. ‘Think they’ll ever forgive me?’

  ‘No,’ Kate laughed, to relieve her tension as much as anything.

  ‘Oh well,’ he shrugged. ‘Fuck ’em. Won’t do them any harm to see a bit of reality up close and personal for once.’

  ‘Your reality isn’t necessarily reality,’ she warned him.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means the things you deal with, day in, day out, is not most people’s idea of the real world.’

  ‘But it is the real world,’ he argued. ‘It’s just not many people get to see it.’

  ‘Sean,’ she pointed out, ‘half the people there last night are A&E doctors. They’ve seen their fair share of reality.’

  ‘Point taken,’ he sighed. ‘Anyway, when you see them tell them I apologize, and I apologize to you too. I could have handled it better. I guess I just got carried away when everything started kicking off live.’

  ‘Apology accepted,’ she told him. ‘Now get yourself something to eat. I don’t like it when you get too skinny.’ He was about to answer when he felt his phone vibrating in his jacket pocket, making his heart jump and his stomach sink. He tried to ignore it, but just couldn’t. The number had been withheld. He answered it cautiously.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘DI Corrigan,’ Jackson’s voice came back. ‘We need to meet. Have I ever got something for you.’

  ‘How d’you get my mobile number?’ Sean asked in a moment of fear.

  ‘Relax,’ Jackson told him. ‘I called your office number and got diverted to your mobile.’ Sean remembered setting the call divert.

  ‘Just tell me what you want, Jackson.’

  ‘The Argyll Arms – Argyll Street in Soho. One hour. Don’t be late.’ The line went dead.

  ‘Shit,’ he cursed.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Kate asked.

  ‘No,’ he told her. ‘I have to go and see someone.’

  ‘Straight away? You haven’t had anything to eat yet.’

  ‘I’ll get something on the way,’ he promised.

  ‘No you won’t,’ she argued. ‘Sean, this is getting ridiculous. You’re going to make yourself ill.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he told her, ‘but I have to meet this guy. He could have important information.’

  ‘About the man you’re after?’

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘Sean. I’ve barely seen you in days and the kids haven’t seen you at all. You need to find some time for us in your life.’

  ‘I will,’ he assured her, although he wasn’t sure how. ‘I have to go.’ He stood and thought about kissing her again, but the look on her face told him it wasn’t a good idea. ‘I’ll try to get home at a sensible time,’ he promised. ‘Maybe even early enough to see the kids. I’ll call you later.’ He walked away without looking back.

  ‘No you won’t,’ Kate told him once he was too far away to hear. ‘You never do.’

  Sean entered the Argyll Arms, scanned the customers for Jackson and found him sitting alone reading his own newspaper at a corner table in the old pub that had been lovingly restored to its original glory. He weaved and pushed his way past the lunchtime customers and joined Jackson without asking or pleasantries.

  ‘What did you want to see me about, Jackson?’ he demanded.

  Jackson lowered the paper as if he’d only just noticed him, but Sean knew Jackson had no doubt clocked him as soon as he’d entered. Jou
rnalists like Jackson weren’t too dissimilar from cops in their habits: they liked to have their backs to the wall, sitting where they could keep an eye on all newcomers, and they liked to be aware of what was going on all around them, at all times. Jackson’s stories had seriously pissed off some powerful and dangerous people in their time.

  ‘DI Corrigan. So glad you could make it.’

  ‘Cut the shit, Jackson – I’m not in the mood. I’ve already had a bad day and it’s going to get worse, so what did you want to see me about that couldn’t wait? It better be worthwhile me dragging my arse into the West End to hear about.’

  ‘Know what you sound like?’ Jackson asked with a grin.

  ‘No,’ Sean answered. ‘What do I sound like?’

  ‘A cop,’ Jackson told him, his grin now a full-blown smile.

  ‘Fuck you, Jackson,’ Sean cursed and began to stand to leave.

  ‘I met him again,’ Jackson hurriedly explained, his smile vanished. ‘The Jackdaw.’

  Sean sat slowly back in his seat. ‘I told you to stay away from him. He’s more dangerous than you think. You’re gonna get yourself killed. And what’s worse – I’ll probably be the one who’ll have to investigate it.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Jackson told him smugly. ‘I’ve met him twice now and I’m still here, aren’t I? He’s not going to harm me – he needs me.’

  ‘Needs you? What for, exactly?’

  ‘Publicity,’ Jackson explained. ‘Needs me to spread his message to a wider audience.’

  Sean studied him for a few seconds, his eyes narrowing as he suspected the worst of Jackson. ‘Jesus, Jackson. Have you been encouraging this lunatic to take more people – so you can keep the story going?’

  ‘No,’ Jackson answered none too convincingly. ‘Of course not. That would be unethical. Maybe even criminal. I know my boundaries better than that.’

  ‘I swear, Jackson,’ Sean warned him. ‘If I find out you’ve so much as indirectly suggested he keeps doing what he’s been doing I promise I’ll have you for conspiracy to murder.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ Jackson smiled. ‘I know the law too, you know. You can’t do me for shit.’