by Luke Delaney
‘Closed door,’ he hissed back. ‘The others were open.’ His words alone made Sally take several steps backwards as the leader crouched by the wall next to the door, his female colleague standing tall, but her back also pressed against the wall, while the other armed officer stood on the opposite side of the frame. They all pointed their weapons towards the ceiling, standing as still as statues, as if someone had pressed pause on the video game, but Sally could sense their heightened state of anxiety and excitement as the leader raised a gloved hand and held out three fingers, beginning the now familiar countdown. Once the last finger was folded back into the palm of his hand his female colleague stepped around him and gave the door a firm kick before swinging back against the wall as the crouching leader poked his gun and head just around the corner and the other male cop did the same.
Sally held her breath and waited for the sound of gunfire, but none came. After a few seconds the female cop stepped past the men and walked slowly into the room, her colleagues waiting a few seconds before following her in, one after the other a few seconds apart. Sally assumed the distancing was to ensure that anyone lying in wait wouldn’t be able to hit them all with one burst. Suddenly she heard the words she’d been praying to hear – the words that meant Sean wouldn’t be able to rush head-on into danger, even if he’d wanted to. It was the female officer’s voice she heard.
‘Freeze,’ she yelled, her voice incredibly loud and shocking after minutes of nothing more than whispered silence. ‘Armed police. Don’t you fucking move. Put your hands where I can see them.’ Sally listened to no more than two seconds of silence. ‘I said, put your hands where I can see them or I’ll open fire.’
‘Hold it a second,’ the leader’s voice cut in. ‘For Christ’s sake, hold your fire.’ For some reason his words made Sally’s heart sink and her stomach churn. ‘Check it out, Jonnie,’ she heard him tell the other male officer. ‘Leave me a line of fire.’ She started creeping along the corridor to the room, praying they had The Jackdaw, dead or alive, she didn’t care any more. But some detective instinct burnt inside her telling her something was wrong.
‘He’s not armed,’ she heard Jonnie tell the leader.
‘Signs of life?’ the leader asked.
‘He’s alive,’ Jonnie replied just as Sally entered the room, the light spill from their torches enough for her to just make out the black bin liners over the windows, the old wooden chair at its centre and what looked like a table against the wall behind the door. All three torches were pointing towards a hooded figure lying bound at the ankles on the floor, his hands tied behind his back.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Sally exclaimed. She stepped quickly to the prostrate figure and pulled the hood from his head – terrified, wild eyes staring at her as the man tried to scramble away.
‘Police,’ she told him. ‘I’m a police officer – take it easy. You’re safe now.’ The man’s crazed eyes darted around the room, blinking against the light of their torches as he tried to see his liberators. ‘Get the light off him,’ Sally demanded, holding up her hand to shield him. Once they were illuminated only by the ambient light Sally reached out towards the tape over the man’s mouth, making him recoil slightly, his chest still rising and falling rapidly.
‘It’s OK,’ Sally tried to reassure him, reaching out again, noting the multiple cuts and bruises on his face – some old and almost healed, although not cleaned, while others appeared new. ‘I just need to take the tape off your mouth so you can speak to me.’
She pinched the edge of the tape and began to peel it from his face as he closed his eyes against the pain. As gently as she could she managed to pull the tape back, his unkempt facial hair making the task more difficult. Once off she had the presence of mind to drop the tape into a small plastic evidence bag before doing anything else, giving the injured man a few seconds to calm down and take in what was happening.
Sally helped him into a sitting position and looked at the knotted nylon rope used to bind his hands. It would need to be cut off to preserve the evidence of the knot-tying. And there was something else – a blood-soaked strip of material tied around the man’s hand, covering the place where his little finger used to be.
‘Bloody hell,’ she cursed as she tried to comprehend what it could mean. She rested her hands on the man’s shoulders and looked deeply into his terrified eyes. ‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘I need to know your name.’
Sean drove fast along Winnington Road approaching Hampstead Golf Course, the blue light attached to his roof spinning and flashing as the siren wailed. Dozens of different thoughts and possibilities were swirling inside his head – Elkins, Goldsboro, Waldegrave. Were they really all connected, or was he making things up in his own mind in the desperate and forlorn hope of finally catching The Jackdaw? Was he so desperate to remain in charge of the Special Investigations Unit and avoid a return to mundane investigations that he was speeding to an answer that didn’t really exist and therefore the destruction of his own credibility? What had these men done to The Jackdaw to turn him into a torturer and murderer? And why had he kept Goldsboro hooded and allowed him to live? Had they been friends? Were they maybe even family? So that, when it came down to it, The Jackdaw simply couldn’t bring himself to kill him?
He could just make out the phone ringing on the hands-free system and quickly killed the siren, reduced his speed and pressed answer. ‘Yes.’
‘Detective Inspector Corrigan?’ the distinctive, mature female voice asked.
He knew he didn’t have time to be too guarded, even though he had no idea who was calling him. ‘It is,’ he admitted.
‘My name is Felicity George.’ It still meant nothing to him. ‘Amanda Coppolaro over at King and Melbourn asked me to give you a call. She said it was rather urgent.’ Still Sean didn’t understand. ‘Amanda was my replacement when I retired from being the HR director there.’ Finally Sean realized who she was.
‘Of course. I’m sorry,’ he apologized. ‘Thanks for calling.’
‘If I can help catch the man who did those terrible things to Jeremy and of course poor Paul, then I’m only too happy to help.’
‘Then you know what this is about?’ Sean asked.
‘Amanda informed me,’ she told him. ‘But I was already fully aware of what’s been happening. And now I believe you suspect Mr Waldegrave could also be in danger?’
‘Yes I do,’ he admitted. ‘Which means none of this is random. It has to have something to do with these three men. Something they did when they were at King and Melbourn. Something that made someone very angry. Something they never forgot about, even all these years later.’
‘I don’t see how,’ she replied. ‘They were never there all together, you see. Mr Elkins was Jeremy’s replacement.’
‘Was there something maybe they did?’ Sean kept probing. ‘Something they did then tried to keep quiet or cover up?’
‘Not possible,’ she dismissed it. ‘Jeremy had already gone before Mr Elkins arrived.’ She gave a long sigh before continuing. ‘It’s all so ironic really.’
‘What is?’ Sean asked, confused.
‘That this monster should choose Jeremy as one of his victims, when the very thing this madman seems to hate was also the thing that turned its back on Jeremy.’
‘What d’you mean, turned its back on him?’
‘I mean when Jeremy was let go by the company,’ she explained. ‘I know things were very difficult for him for a while.’
‘Let go?’ Sean questioned her. ‘I thought he retired.’
‘Not exactly,’ she told him. ‘I’m afraid things all got a little confusing and unpleasant. I felt so sorry for Jeremy.’
‘What happened?’ Sean demanded, his body stiff with tension as he sensed a whole new avenue of the investigation was about to open up. Something none of them had considered before. ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’
‘Goodness,’ she stalled. ‘This is difficult. Jeremy had worked for King and Melbourn for almost fiftee
n years, working his way up from middle management all the way to vice president. He was so sure he was set for the top job, but then the shareholders gave it to Francis Waldegrave, an outsider.’
‘The shareholders?’ Sean asked.
‘King and Melbourn only has major shareholders,’ she explained. ‘A small collection of wealthy people from around the world, who believed Waldegrave would best serve their interests. Jeremy was so cross. I think that’s when things started to go wrong. He was so determined to prove he was the man to take King and Melbourn forward that he started to take increased risks – investing large amounts in high-risk overseas markets, encouraging his subordinates to do the same and to lend money to individuals who probably could never afford to repay it. Then the banking crisis hit the entire sector and people started looking closely at Jeremy’s actions. It was just the excuse Mr Waldegrave was looking for. That sort of thing was bad for business, once people knew about it.’
‘So they paid him off?’ Sean told her more than asked.
‘He was allowed to keep his pension and his bonus,’ she continued, ‘just so long as he didn’t make a fuss, but it hurt him very badly. He and Mr Waldegrave could barely stand the sight of each other. As far as Jeremy was concerned Francis had taken what was rightfully his, so when he was also the one to tell him his time at King and Melbourn was over … well, it was almost too much for him to bear.’
‘But he did,’ Sean reminded her. ‘He did bear it. He never tried to make trouble for anyone. He kept quiet.’
‘What choice did he have? What choice did anyone have? I know he tried to find another job in the financial sector, but Francis quietly made sure no one would touch him. Jeremy was a tiger, Inspector. He lived for his work – his position and status. The thought of retirement must have almost killed him.’
‘And he blamed Waldegrave,’ Sean spoke his thoughts out loud, the hairs all over his body standing on end and bristling as the solution to the puzzle finally began slot into place. ‘He blamed Waldegrave for taking it all away.’
‘Inspector,’ she told him. ‘I truly believe he hated him.’
‘Jesus Christ.’ Sean tried to comprehend the enormity of what he was hearing, Jeremy Goldsboro’s face fixed in the front of his mind – the years of planning and waiting for his revenge finally making Sean realize what sort of animal he’d been looking for all along: a vengeful, envious, bitter man, yes – but no man of the people striking at the rich and powerful. Instead, a man who was institutionally part of the very thing The Jackdaw claimed to hate. So that’s why you left Goldsboro hooded. You were hiding something from me – that you, The Jackdaw, are Jeremy Goldsboro. So who the hell was the hooded man in the chair?
‘Jesus Christ,’ he blasphemed again.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked him.
‘Yeah,’ he lied before another question jumped into his mind. ‘Why didn’t you call us?’ he asked. ‘When you realized both Paul Elkins and Jeremy Goldsboro had been taken by the same man. It must have struck you as a coincidence?’
‘Of course it did,’ she admitted. ‘I spoke to Jeremy, after I found out what happened to him, and I mentioned to him that it seemed strange. He told me he’d already told the police all about it.’
Sean physically shrunk as he realized how much Goldsboro had been playing him. How else had he fooled them? How many more times had he led them by the nose? He remembered the constant phone calls from all the victims, their families and friends demanding information on the progress of the investigation. Damn you. That’s why you made yourself a victim, isn’t it? So you could become part of the investigation – find out if we were getting closer to you. You couldn’t bear not knowing, could you?
‘You clever bastard,’ he accidentally said out loud.
‘Excuse me?’ George reminded him she existed.
‘Who else knows about this?’ he demanded.
‘Very few,’ she confessed. ‘It was all kept very, very quiet.’
‘I have to go,’ he told her. ‘I’ll be in touch.’ He hung up just as the entrance to Hampstead Golf Course came into view. ‘I know who you are, my friend. I know who you are.’ His phone ringing momentarily distracted him. It was Sally. ‘D’you find it?’ Sean asked as soon as he answered.
‘Yeah,’ Sally told him, ‘and that’s not all.’
‘Go on,’ he encouraged her, sensing the concern in her voice.
‘We found someone,’ she explained. ‘It’s Jason Howard, Sean. We found Jason Howard and amongst other injuries he’s missing his left little finger. What the hell’s going on, Sean?’
Sean felt instantaneously lightheaded and confused. Only seconds before he’d discounted Howard from all his thoughts, but now he was back and he was real.
‘My God.’ Howard’s role in the unfolding events clicked into place in Sean’s mind. ‘Howard was the man in the hood,’ he told Sally. ‘The man we thought was Goldsboro was Howard. He was faking his own torture – that’s why he couldn’t take the hood off.’
‘Then where the hell was Goldsboro?’ Sally questioned, the confusion thick in her voice.
‘Don’t you understand yet?’ he unfairly asked. ‘Jeremy Goldsboro is The Jackdaw, Sally. He cut Howard’s finger off then he did it to himself. Fuck,’ he cursed. ‘He must have been planning this since the day they made him walk away from everything he really loved – his job, the prestige it brought him.’
‘But why keep Howard alive? Why keep him here?’
‘To take the fall,’ Sean explained, shaking his head at Goldsboro’s cunning. ‘Howard made the perfect suspect – the perfect Jackdaw. He was on police records as threatening Goldsboro and Elkins and God knows how many others in the City. He blamed everything he’d lost on the banking sector. He was perfect. Bloody hell, Goldsboro must have been watching him for years, tracking him – waiting for the time when he needed him, then he took him – took him and kept him until it was time to fake the video of his own torture.’
‘Why keep him after that?’ Sally asked. ‘Tied up in this place?’
‘Because The Jackdaw has told the world he’s going to kill himself live on Your View – for everybody to witness. Only the real Jackdaw was never going to commit suicide. Goldsboro was going to fake it, then blow Howard’s brains out and leave him for us to find. Case closed and Goldsboro walks away. He has his revenge on the people he believes stabbed him in the back.’
‘How d’you know all this?’ Sally asked. ‘How can you be sure it’s Goldsboro?’
‘It’s him,’ he insisted as he pulled into the long drive that led to the golf course car park. ‘Everything I’ve found and everything you’ve just told me proves it has to be him.’
‘I don’t know, Sean,’ Sally poured doubt on his belief. ‘Goldsboro is still a very wealthy man. Why risk it all to take revenge for something that happened years ago?’
‘Because he’s not like you,’ Sean told her, his voice slightly raised. ‘Not like other people. Money means nothing to him without power and respect. Without fear. People feared him when he was a vice president. They took all that away from him and he couldn’t bear it. He’s a lion, not a lamb.’
‘So I can’t understand him?’ Sally asked accusingly. ‘But you can?’ Sean didn’t answer, but kept driving, the car park next to the clubhouse drawing ever nearer until he was close enough to see the scene unfolding in the near distance. ‘Is that what you mean?’
‘Shit,’ Sean said as his eyes focused on what he didn’t want to believe he was seeing – the man in a ski-mask, dressed all in black, walking backwards slowly towards the white Renault Trafic van on the edge of the car park, a white man in his fifties held in front of him, – one of the masked man’s arms locked around his neck, while the other held the sawn-off shotgun under his chin as three armed uniformed officers edged towards him.
‘I have to go,’ he told Sally and cut her off before she could reply. He snatched the light from the roof and allowed the car to roll to a quiet hal
t behind a small copse of trees. He should have listened to Sally, he told himself. Had the area swamped with local uniformed units to scare Goldsboro away. Now he’d gambled with Waldegrave’s life. If matters got even worse, if Waldegrave was killed, he’d be hung out to dry. But Sean knew he needed it to happen this way. He needed to confront Goldsboro – needed to finally stand in front of The Jackdaw.
He flipped the glovebox open, revealing the main set radio concealed in most unmarked police cars. He snatched up the mouthpiece and spoke across the already busy radio traffic. ‘MP. MP, this is an urgent active message from DI Corrigan, SIU.’
There was a second’s silence before a calm, clear female voice came out of the radio. ‘DI Corrigan, go ahead with your message over. All over units stand by unless urgent.’
‘I’ve just arrived on scene at Hampstead Golf Course to liaise with an ARV unit – do you have that ARV unit assigned, MP?’
‘Be aware, SIU,’ the voice came back, ‘the ARV crew are now on scene and dealing with an armed incident at that location. You are advised to keep clear, SIU – over.’
‘The suspect has a hostage,’ Sean pleaded.
‘SIU, be advised – we are aware of the situation – over.’
‘No,’ Sean argued. ‘The suspect has the upper hand. The suspect has the upper hand. He’s going to drive away with the victim and there’s nothing they can do to stop him. They can’t take a shot while he has the victim.’
‘SIU, be advised, you are being ordered to leave this to the armed units.’
‘Listen to me.’ Sean wouldn’t give up. ‘I need you to speak to the ARV crew on their headsets. Tell them to back away – all the way back to the clubhouse and make sure the suspect sees them do it.’
‘SIU, the on duty commander is ordering you to leave the incident to the armed units.’
‘Speak to Assistant Commissioner Addis if you have to,’ Sean demanded, ‘but get the armed units to back away. This suspect will open fire if he feels he has to.’ He desperately tried to think of something to convince the people he knew would be sitting in the control room cursing his meddling. ‘It’s The Jackdaw,’ he found himself saying into the mouthpiece. ‘The suspect is The Jackdaw.’