by J. D. Weston
"Reg Tenant, twenty-seven I think," said Melody.
"And are you his friends?" asked the man.
“Yeah, we’re colleagues, but we’re close.”
"Can you tell me what happened here please?" the second medic asked, pointing back to the blaze with a jerk of his thumb. He was younger than the first guy, with a full head of neat brown hair in a side parting. Melody thought he couldn't be too long out of training but still had a confident way about him.
"The cars in front slammed on their brakes, we had no time, so I pulled off the road," said Denver.
The medic looked behind him and turned back to Denver with raised eyebrows.
"The truck behind us crashed into the tanker."
"Seems like a bad day for driving," said the younger medic. "There's another crash about a mile in front this one. Apparently, someone smashed into the car in the next lane on purpose and then took off. Caused a hell of a smash."
"Did they catch him?" asked Melody.
“Not that I heard, there was a family in the car that was hit. Crashed into the central reservation and rolled. There’s another chopper there now dealing with the scene.”
“Any description?” asked Melody.
“We don’t get descriptions like that, miss. We just pick up the pieces.”
"Right, let's get him onto the stretcher," interrupted the older medic. He'd finished his assessment. "Okay, Reg, we're going to move you now if you can hear me. Let me know if you feel anything."
Melody and Denver stood back and let the two men carefully ease Reg from the van onto the stretcher. The older man signalled the helicopter pilot, and the blades began to turn slowly.
"Can we come with him?" asked Melody.
"There's not much room," said the younger man, taking the back end of the stretcher.
“That’s okay, I want to be with him.”
Denver shut the rear door and pulled the keys. "I'll join you in a second."
"Need to be quick, this man needs a hospital."
"Get him loaded," said Denver. Without looking back, he ran to the nearest policeman who was a hundred yards away. He was asking a man in a suit questions. The man had obviously lost his car in the blaze and was giving his account of what happened.
"The insurance will cover it right? It's my livelihood, mate," he was saying when Denver came to a stop beside them.
"You'll need to deal with the insurance company, sir," replied the policeman.
"Sir," began Denver, "I need a word in your ear."
"I'm conducting an interview, sir. You'll need to wait, there's a lot of you to get through I'm afraid." He turned back to the man in the suit.
Denver pulled his ID, something he didn't like to do. "Officer, I said I need a word in your ear."
"Oh, I see. I'll just be a moment, sir," he said to the man, who then gave a look of annoyance at the disruption.
"That's my van in the field, we're with SO10. Our colleague was hurt, we're escorting him to hospital. I need the van protected." Denver passed him the keys.
"I'm afraid I-"
"The van is full of highly sensitive equipment and key information in a high profile investigation. If we lose the van or the contents, the suspects go free, and it'll be you, officer, that shoulders the blame." Denver made it clear he was reading the number on the policeman's shoulder.
"I'll see what I can do."
"You'll do more than that, you'll get the van into a police compound with twenty-four seven protection. I'll be back to get it later, officer." Denver spat the last words, and the policeman understood.
Denver turned and ran to the chopper as Melody was climbing in, she looked back and held the door for him. He climbed in beside her and pulled the door closed. The medic passed him a headset. Reg was on the stretcher at their feet, and the two medics were opposite monitoring his vitals. A strap ran across Reg's chest to keep his body steady.
The helicopter rose in the air, and Melody looked out of the small window at the devastation below. The scene looked even worse from above. They flew over the long queue of cars following the smoke, and saw the emergency services dealing with the cause of the traffic. Three cars were piled up blocking the motorway. The first vehicle was a minivan on its roof. Even from two hundred metres above, Melody could see the sparks made by the firefighters’ cutting tools.
They passed, and she sat back. "Which hospital are we going to?" she asked into the headset.
"Broomfield Accident and Emergency," the medic replied.
She looked down at Reg. He looked peaceful. She thought that if the positions were changed, and she lay on the stretcher, Reg would probably be making jokes, and annoying the medics.
Reg opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, his neck brace prevented him moving his head. He tried to move his arms, but the straps held him fast. A confused look spread across his face, then a bolt of pain as his head began to pound. The medic held his head. "Mr Tenant, you're okay. You're in an air ambulance. Your friends are here with me, they're okay, but you've had a nasty bump on your head."
Reg tried to sit up, but the medic held him down.
"Reg, try not to move, can you hear me?"
Reg mouthed something inaudible.
"Okay, Mr Tenant,' the medic shouted over the noise, "I need you to move your fingers for me.” Both hands and his fingers contracted and straightened.
"And your toes, Mr Tenant." Melody put her hands on his feet and nodded to the medic that his toes were moving.
“Okay, do you have any pain anywhere other than your head?”
He tried to move his head from side to side, then said, "No," softly and kept his eyes closed.
"Okay, you're going to be just fine. Just relax and try to stay awake. I'm going to keep talking, I want you to keep responding. I can't let you fall asleep."
Melody gently took hold of his hand. "Reg, it's me." She gave a little squeeze. He returned the squeeze. "That's it, Reg, just keep squeezing, hard as you can if you like."
Reg gave a soft squeeze. He lay on his back, totally disabled. His eyes were looking down at melody. She smiled back at him.
She held his gaze as the helicopter circled the helipad and turned to face the wind, then the pilot gently set the bird down. The rotors began to wind down immediately, and the medics jumped into action.
The doors were flung open, and the older medic jumped down. In one smooth motion, he pulled the stretcher out, and the younger guy followed with the other end. The legs were kicked down, and the stretcher rolled across to the open door where a team of men and women in white jackets stood to meet them.
Denver held Melody back with his arm.
"What are you doing?"
"Just wait," he said.
The pilot emerged, and Denver pulled his phone out. He nodded and said thanks to the pilot as he walked by. "Just making a quick call to his wife, We'll be in in a sec."
The pilot nodded and carried on walking. Denver watched him disappear through the doors.
"Come on," he said and ran toward the helicopter.
"What are you doing?" Melody called. But Denver was already pulling open the pilot's door. He climbed in and waved her over through the window.
She opened the passenger door at the front and looked across at him sternly. "We are not stealing a helicopter," she said matter of factly.
"We're not stealing it, we're borrowing it. Come on." He began to flick switches and familiarise himself with the controls.
"Denver, no. This is ridiculous, we could lose our jobs."
He stopped and faced her. "If we don't, we're out of the game. Murray gets away, more girls die." The rotors began to turn once more.
"Denver, no. I can't."
"Melody, Reg is in safe hands here. Get in." He took on a serious look. "More girls will die if he gets away. He'll just find another Cartwright someplace."
Melody glanced back over her shoulder then begrudgingly climbed in. "You better know what you're doing in this thing," she
said, pulling on the headset.
Denver began talking through his own headset. He readout the helicopter’s identifier to control. "Control this is Essex and Herts Air Ambulance KO-33, come back."
A crackled voice came over their headsets, "KO-33 this is control, who is this?" The control centre knew the regular pilots and hadn't recognised Denver's voice.
"My name is Denver Cox, I am a pilot with SO10, we have just dropped our colleague here at Broomfield and I am commandeering this helicopter in pursuit of a suspect. Out."
"KO-33, you can't do that. I suggest you step away from the helicopter before-"
"Control this KO-33, we don't have time for that, I suggest you ask your superiors to contact SO10, they'll verify my authority."
"KO-33, this is control, what’s your flight plan?"
“Pudding Lane, Hainault, Essex. Out.”
He switched channels back to the private channel so he could hear Melody’s shouting.
"What the hell was that?" she shouted. He'd never seen her so mad. "That's it, we won't just lose our jobs, we'll go to prison ourselves you idiot. Why did you have to tell them who we were?"
"I couldn't lie to them, Melody."
"You couldn't bloody lie?" she shouted. A little spittle flew from her lip. “You can steal a helicopter, but you can't lie?” She released her strap and reached for the handle, but Denver took the weight of the chopper on the rotors, and it began to move. He eased off, taking the bird higher than the surrounding buildings, then checked the compass in the centre of the dials and banked.
Melody fastened her straps again. "You bastard," she called.
Denver smiled. "Sit back, enjoy the ride. How often do we get to do this?"
“Go to prison?”
Denver ignored her and monitored the controls. He checked the fuel, temperatures and pressure. Then sat back and looked out.
"Murray has a forty-five-minute head start on us, he'll be there by now, I'll cut across country."
"I'm not happy about this, Denver."
"Listen, if we get him, they'll thank us. If we don't, and we land ourselves in deep-"
"If?" cried Melody.
"If it happens, I'll take one hundred percent of the blame. I'll tell them I forced you into the chopper."
"Damn right you will." She crossed her arms and turned away from him.
"Melody, we can do this, but I need your help. Put that to one side right now and focus." He paused, then leaned over to her and held her arm. "We stand a much better chance of success if we work together, trust me, I can fly this, we can nail him."
"How long?" she said.
"At a guess, fifteen minutes."
"We'll probably be shot down by then anyway," she said.
17
The Harder They Fall
The cold wind bit into the scrapes on Harvey's hand caused by punching through the plaster. His head throbbed, and his leg ached. He couldn't remember the last time his body had taken so many hits.
He rode for the sake of riding, to distance himself from the crime, the blaze, and the bodies, but he had no idea where to find Donny.
A chopper hovered back in the direction of the fire. It seemed to hang in the air swathed in smoke.
Harvey rode away from the blaze and continued along the country lane. He’d need to go back to basics, back to before he had the team with Reg’s tech, Denver’s reliability and Melody’s tenacity and attention to detail.
Before he knew them he'd done all his own spadework, often sat alone at his kitchen counter on his laptop. He thought it all seemed so basic then, but he'd got the job done, whatever it happened to be. Often it had been researching known sex offenders to target so he could hone his skills. It had been therapy. Piecing the puzzle together, tracking their movements, until he managed to have them fall into his trap. Then little by little, he could restore some kind peace to the world by removing some of the poison.
Another little part of Hannah could rest.
Another family could begin the long healing process.
Harvey had never been to see a shrink or a therapist, or whatever they were called. He often wondered what they might think of him if he began to tell them his story. Where would he start?
Would he start with Hannah?
Or would he start when his training had begun with Julios? That was when the world Harvey knew had been born. The real Harvey. The little boy that was found wrapped in a hamper on a bench seat in a grimy bar in East London had died when Hannah had cut herself to ribbons. Julios had reached inside the boy's corpse and pulled out a man, kicking and screaming at first. Harvey had wanted to fight the world and all those that deserved to be punished. But Julios has tamed the beast. He'd focused Harvey's attention on a small subset of evil. Now, he was a psychiatrist’s dream.
And now Harvey needed to refocus. He needed to concentrate on one tiny part of the greater evil. Donny. One man. Harvey imagined a pin pricked into his own skin, relentless, its pressure unchanged. He imagined his life without the sharp stab of pain. How clearly he would see the world.
If he was Donny, where would he be? What would he do?
Donny would need to move quickly, he'd need to find a new place. It would be close. It had been less than a day. Nobody could find somewhere and move a bunch of girls and all that tech in less than a day. It would take a week to sign the lease. Unless he had friends. But what friends are going to lend him a commercial property for his illegal prostitution business? Besides, Donny had only one true friend, and Harvey had boiled him alive six months ago.
He pulled into a lay-by to remove his helmet and wipe his face. Adjusting the make-shift bandage, he tidied up his leg dressing. His hand stung, but they were just scrapes. It had been a long few days, and he hadn't slept.
A lorry trundled by, heavy and cumbersome in the country lane. Harvey hung the helmet on his handlebars and leaned forwards. He was able to stretch his leg now, it hurt but felt good to move it. It would be dark soon, maybe an hour, maybe less.
Harvey ran the possibilities over in his head.
Donny would need to get the girls out fast. He'd need somewhere to take them and some way of taking them there. He couldn't take them in his car or Bruno's Toyota. He'd hire a lorry, he would have to, and he could do that in less than an hour. Once he had them out, he could take as long as he needed to find somewhere.
Harvey sat forward on his bike. Where would he park a lorry full of girls? He couldn't leave them alone at night, someone might find them. He'd have to kill them. If he set them free, they could go to the police. The description of a man in the area with a burned face and an accomplice that resembled a five-hundred-pound silverback would be easy for the police to track down. A caravan park? A campsite maybe?
Cogs shifted into place.
His foster father's old house. It was close by and had been derelict since Sergio's murder.
John had disappeared soon after the Sergio incident. His accounts had been closed, and all communication had been through his lawyers. It was the lawyers who had closed the bars down, laid off staff and put the house up for sale. The price had dropped after six months on the market, nobody wanted it. The news had been national. A man had been brutally killed there, and a known sex offender was found tied up in the basement. Nobody would buy the place.
Harvey fired up the bike and pulled his helmet on.
Harvey was closer to Loughton than Theydon Bois and decided to make a pass by Donny's apartment before riding on to the house. It was early evening, the streets were busy with people heading home from work and kids returning from school. He took a glance up at the building, and found the window where Donny's flat was. The lights were off in the corner of the second floor.
Harvey parked the bike in the same spot he had before and stashed his helmet in the back box. His Sig was in his waistband, his knife was fixed to his belt.
As he turned the corner near the ramp to the car park, a couple walked out the main door. He held it open for them so the
husband could get the pushchair out.
"Thank you," the man said.
"You're welcome," Harvey replied with a friendly smile, then walked into the lift lobby. He was sure Donny wouldn't be there. Donny wouldn't be back. He knew the rules, never return to the scene. As far as Donny was concerned, he had caught Melody but still had no idea what organisation, if any, she belonged to. Barnaby had disappeared, and who knows what level of communication he'd had with Murray since Harvey had shot at his boat and Melody had been dragged from the water.
Donny would be moving. John may not have been the world’s greatest father, he hadn't sat with them and helped with Donny's homework, but he had taught them to be street savvy. As weak and spineless as Donny had been when they were younger, he had picked up on that, and he had gone on to become John's operations manager across his chain of bars.
The door to the apartment stood at the end of the hall. Harvey saw the cleaning cupboard where he'd hidden before had been locked. He stood off to one side of the door and placed his finger over the spy hole, then rang the bell. He had his knife in his right hand, ready to jab up into somebody’s throat if the door was to open. But it didn't.
The door was light oak, it was solid and intricately decorated with beading and an ornate design, like a fleur de lis symbol, but with more branches of interweaving plants.
The door lock cracked with a well-placed heel of Harvey's boot. He pushed it open. No movement. Harvey closed the door behind him. He swept each room before settling in Donny's bedroom. Donny had few possessions. The apartment looked like it was rented and came furnished. None of the furniture was Donny's style, it wasn't extravagant or expensive enough.
Double glass doors off the bedroom led out onto a small balcony with a table and chairs for two people. Harvey pulled the drawers out of a cabinet, there was no point being discreet. He emptied the contents of each drawer onto the bed. He didn't know what he was looking for, a clue to John perhaps. A clue to another property. But there were no clues in the bedroom.