by J. D. Weston
He moved into the lounge. It was small, save for two large sofas and a small dining table for four. The drawers in the TV stand were empty.
It was like Donny had no previous life. He just rocked up at the place with nothing; a fresh start.
It had been a fresh start. Donny had been sent away when Thomson had put a hit on him and failed. John sent him off to the Maldives. Most people would've found somewhere a little cheaper, and with more people. Some places are easier to hide in, like Asia; India or Thailand would have been better choices. Donny didn't think like that. Sitting on an island with only a handful of other guests would have been his way of hiding. He must have returned from the Maldives when the calls from Sergio had stopped, and his money had run out. Donny would have found John's empty house. Harvey wondered if John had contacted him. John was the one link to Harvey's real parents, he would be the next piece of Harvey's life puzzle once he’d dealt with Donny.
The kitchen was empty. Harvey took a cursory glance around the apartment as he stepped to the front door, it had been a waste of time. He had gleaned an insight into what Donny had become. A nobody. Donny wouldn't live like that by choice. It meant he hadn't the money or position to splash out on a lavish home.
A single door stood behind the front door. Storage for a vacuum or ironing board perhaps. Harvey swung it open. It was dark inside, but it did indeed have an ironing board, plus some boxes for electrical appliances; the iron, microwave, toaster and kettle.
And a small rucksack stuffed at the back.
Harvey reached for the pack and unzipped the top. Inside were old photos. They hadn't been neatly stored or placed in the bag like cherished memories. They had been slung inside in a hurry. Some of the photos were bent in half. Some were in frames, most weren't. Harvey recognised a framed photo that had stood on John's bedside. It was of six people. John and Barb, Donny, Harvey and Hannah. Hannah was in a child's swimming costume, and Harvey was in shorts with wet hair. Donny was fully dressed. He never joined Harvey and Hannah even in the pool. Julios was stood off to one side. Harvey looked down at Julios' unsmiling face. His hands were folded in front of him. On guard. The photo was taken during the days before Harvey's training, when Julios had been John's minder.
Harvey faintly remembered the day. It was a shot of the family and, to an onlooker, gave the impression of happy memories of them by their pool during a summer long ago. In reality, Barb had spent the day sitting in a chair nearby, reading a book. John had been working in his office and Donny had been off with some outside friends. It was Julios who had spent the day with Harvey and Hannah, entertaining them. But it was John and Barb who had enjoyed the family photo. So people could see how happy they all were. Harvey looked again at Julois' unsmiling face and began to understand more.
He touched the photo. "One day my friend," he said to himself, "one day I'll find out who killed you. For sure I will."
Harvey zipped up the pack and pulled it over both shoulders. He glanced around the room, then opened the front door, and a large fist hit him square in the face.
The blow sent Harvey staggering back into the apartment, nd onto the floor. He scrambled to his feet. The doorway was filled with the giant frame of Bruno; he was silhouetted against the bright hallway lights.
Bruno came at him with hard and fast jabs. Harvey ducked and slammed a hard uppercut into the big man's ribs with no effect.
Harvey had fought men as big as Bruno before. Their organs were protected by a layer of muscle and fat which narrowed the points of vulnerability down to the face, groin and throat. Many men Harvey had fought had placed a kick between the legs, thinking it would surely take any man down. But Harvey knew otherwise. A cheap shot between the legs would leave him open, standing on one leg, fully exposed and off-balance.
Bruno swung, Harvey dodged and felt the air move across his cheek. Bruno was fast for a big man. Perhaps not as much as most boxers, but the guy was still fast.
Bruno threw two more punches in quick succession, the first was a left jab anticipating Harvey to move into the follow up right hook. Harvey stepped back and let both punches miss. A missed punch takes a lot of energy and sets a man off-balance. Harvey was learning how Bruno fought before he made his move. Patience, planning and execution.
Bruno rushed at him, leaving no room to dodge, but Harvey ducked beneath his sweeping arms and stood with his back to the front door. Bruno grew mad. It was exactly what Harvey had been waiting for.
Bruno threw three wild swings at Harvey who was able to dodge, duck and skip out of their way. Harvey bounced from foot to foot, ready to move in any direction at any moment. Bruno ended up by the dining table and hurled two chairs at Harvey, who was again able to avoid the attack. But Bruno came at him while he moved from the last chair. He caught Harvey in his strong hands and pinned him against the wall. His breath was foul. Harvey landed several blows into Bruno's gut, but the giant man just laughed and squeezed tighter.
Harvey tried to pull at the man's huge fingers, but they were solid.
Bruno was trained and had learned the hard way how to street fight. His body was turned away to protect his groin.
Harvey felt his air supply being cut off. Bruno saw the life draining from Harvey's eyes.
Then he made his mistake.
He gloated.
Bruno put his face next to Harvey's and sneered, then in his deep East London accent grumbled, "Any message for your brother, Stone?"
In a fraction of a second Harvey snapped his mouth open and chomped his teeth on the big man's nose, he bit down with everything. But Bruno didn't let go. Harvey felt his own teeth sink into Bruno's skin, the irony taste of blood ran across his lips and down his face. He bit harder, growling, and twisting until finally his teeth connected; he'd bitten completely through. Harvey snatched his head back to tear the flesh clean from Bruno's face and spat it at him. Bruno was clearly in pain, his eyes were drawn tight and his mouth closed against the blood, yet he somehow managed to hold Harvey against the wall. He was almost inhuman. Bruno opened his eyes, and swung his arm back. A blow from him from such close range would have destroyed Harvey, it would be like a sledgehammer breaking his skull open.
Harvey saw the opportunity and jabbed his right hand up and out, fingers straight and locked. They connected with Bruno's adam's apple, and Bruno immediately released his grip. The larger man reached up to his own throat gasping for air. He fell to his knees, eyes wide. Blood poured from his ruined nose.
Harvey delivered the final blow.
18
Strung Up
Denver followed the smoke.
"Well, he did say he would torch the place."
"You think the girls are out?" asked Melody. "Surely he wouldn't burn them all alive, it would link straight back to him."
"You're right, he'll take them someplace else to kill them," said Denver. "Someplace he thinks nobody will find."
Denver took the helicopter above Pudding Lane as they made their approach.
"That's Murray's car, on the grass," said Melody.
"Who's that down there? That's not Harvey."
It was an impressive scene. Two cars were on their roofs, one of them was Murray's, the other unknown. The barn was burning ferociously, pumping out thick, black smoke across the driveway. Murray was crouched behind the second car, and was shooting towards the end of the driveway, where another man was crouched down. The man shot, ran a few steps forwards, then crouched and shot again. At the end of the driveway, parked in the lane was a dark Volvo estate.
"Is that-"
"Frank," finished Melody. "Get me down there."
Denver pushed the cyclic forwards and lowered the collective. The helicopter surged and dropped down to fifty feet, where Denver levelled off.
"Denver, over there, take me down."
Denver continued on his path straight towards Murray.
"What are you doing?" cried Melody. "Take me down."
"Hold on, I've got an idea."
D
enver brought the air ambulance in to hover directly above Murray and the upturned BMW. He dropped the collective some more, and the helicopter began to slowly descend.
Two gunshots pinged off the fuselage.
"We're going to get shot in the-"
"Trust me," shouted Denver, his face had a look of total concentration and steely determination.
Dust and smoke flew up all around them, Denver was pulling in the thick smoke through the suck of the chopper blades and sending it down onto Murray along with dust and debris.
"I can't see anything," called Melody.
"Neither can Murray,' said Denver, "it'll give Frank a chance to get closer."
Denver continued the onslaught of smoke and dust, and made small adjustments on the collective. Then he saw a faint Frank-shaped figure disappear under the helicopter.
Denver gently dabbed the right yaw pedal, and the fuselage turned to face the driveway. Then he slowly pulled up on the collective, bringing them out of the dust and smoke.
He moved the helicopter away from the fire and began to bring the chopper down on the driveway itself when he saw two fire trucks pulling in. He pulled the collective and took them back up out of the firefighters’ way.
The smoke and dust had cleared around the upturned car, and Frank had one knee on Murray's back putting cuffs on him.
"I'd say that was quite successful, wouldn't you?" Denver said with a smile.
"Who's is the other car?" asked Melody. "There's no-one around."
"Harvey," replied Denver.
"How can you be so sure?"
"That's an eighties BMW," Denver called over the radio. "If I had to steal a fast car in a short amount of time, I'd of chosen the same."
“You think he’s in the barn or the car still?”
“Neither, he’s a survivor. Besides, he has another mission.”
“Cartwright.”
“What about Frank?” asked Denver.
"We should talk to him, he'll be happy with the arrest so now’s a good a time as any."
Denver brought the helicopter down softly beside the driveway. Police had arrived, and an ambulance had also turned up. The scene was a riot of swirling lights in the fading darkness. The rotors wound down and spun to a standstill.
They watched Frank hand Murray over to a uniformed officer, then turn to walk toward the chopper.
Melody opened her door and stepped down to the ground. It felt solid, sturdy and reassuring in comparison to the roller coaster chopper ride.
She called out to Frank as he approached, “You got the source.”
“The source?”
“Yeah, that’s Murray, he’s the guy bringing the girls in.”
“You have proof of that?”
“In a way, we were hoping for something stronger, but-“
“I’ve got him for attempted murder of a police officer.”
“That’ll buy us time to pull the human trafficking evidence together.”
Frank looked across at Denver who was still sat in the pilot's seat. "Let's discuss the elephant in the room shall we?" he smiled. "Or should I say the helicopter in the crime scene?"
"Commandeered, sir."
"Commandeered?"
"From Broomfield."
"How do they feel about their helicopter being commandeered?"
"I'm sure they'll feel better when they hear about it being used to capture the leader of a human trafficking-"
"So they know who took it?"
"Of course, sir. Do I look like a helicopter thief?" Denver said with a smile.
“Cox, you were brought into the rehab program as a habitual car thief.”
“That’s just it, sir.”
“What’s it?”
“I’m rehabilitated. I turned my powers into good.”
Frank turned away from Denver and looked down at Melody. “You have an update for me I hope?”
“It’s bad, sir. Worse than we thought. Cartwright was in a gang of three running an illegal prostitution racket-“
“Are there any legal ones?”
“They were killing them, sir. Shaw wasn’t the first or the last.”
“The others?”
“With Cartwright? Barnaby Brayethwait and Jamie Creasey. We have Brayethwait in custody in Redbridge.”
“How long do we have him for?”
“Life, sir. We have an audio confession placing Cartwright and Creasey in the spotlight too.”
“Where’s Creasey?”
“We planted a chip, but without Reg, we have no way of knowing where she is.”
“Where’s Tenant?”
“Reg is in Broomfield, sir. Head injury.”
“Head injury?” Frank was beginning to wonder what the hell had been going on.
“Yes, sir. From the crash.”
“What crash?
“Murray’s man rammed us in a truck, we came off the A12 and ditched in a field.”
“Where’s Murray’s man now?”
“Burned, sir. He’s dead.”
“Burned?”
“In the explosion.”
“Explosion?”
“Petrol tanker, sir. The truck rammed right into it. We evacced the public, no collateral.”
“And Stone?”
“He left us, sir. On the coast.”
“The coast?”
“We caught Murray and his man dropping off more girls. Followed them back to somewhere near Ipswich.”
“Want some intel?” asked Frank.
“On what, sir?”
“Stone.”
“You know where he is?”
“He crawled out of the BMW and ran into the barn.” Melody looked across at the blaze, the crumpled old building had been reduced to a pile of burned timbers.
"Did he come out?"
"Nobody came out," Frank sighed.
"He was one of us, I thought you'd be little more upset," said Melody.
"He had one foot in," Frank defended. "He ran out on us. Stone was going to prison, and he damn well knew it."
Melody was hit hard with the news. Frank carried on talking, but she just heard a mumble of emotionless dribble. Around her, the firefighters were dousing the remnants of the old barn, blue lights flashed atop police cars at the end of the driveway, and police officers had begun a sweep search of the property.
“Mills,” said Frank.
She looked up teary eyed.
“Sir.”
“We just need Cartwright. You in? We can talk about Stone when we’re done.”
“Sir, I hope you don’t me saying-”
“Go on.”
"You're a cold bastard, sir." She looked passed him. A police officer was carrying Sneaky-Peeky toward his colleagues who were stood at the rear of a patrol car. They all looked at it with confusion.
"Denver, Sneaky-Peeky."
"What's-" began Frank, but Melody had already begun to walk across the grass toward them.
She returned two minutes later with the radio control tank and set it down on the ground.
“One of Reg’s creation I presume?”
"Yes, we may have some footage on here that would secure Murray's conviction. We just need Cartwright, then as soon as Reg is up and on his feet we can scoop Creasey up." She looked up at Frank. "Cartwright either locked the girls in the barn and Murray has killed them, or Cartwright's taken them somewhere else. He's had about twelve hours so far to find a new place to run the operations from."
"Twelve hours? That's not a lot of time. I doubt he'd even get to see a place let alone sign a lease."
"Does he have friends nearby?"
"All the Cartwright allies went with John, his dad. The scene's been quiet for months." Frank thought on it. "He'd need a truck or a van right? To move all the girls I mean."
“Yes, sir.”
“So presumably he’d need somewhere to park the truck overnight. It’d be too risky to park it on the side of a road somewhere.”
The barn was, by then, reduced a pil
e of old burned, smoking timbers. "Let's have a quick look around, there's something I want to see," said Melody. She hoped there were no bodies. If there were, then they'd be charred beyond recognition.
They left Sneaky-Peeky sitting on the ground by the helicopter, and the three of them walked towards the smoking remains of the barn.
"There were two double doors here and single there." Melody pointed, but the doors were completely gone, and fallen timbers lay in their place.
"What's that?" said Frank, looking through the smoke. A pile of wooden timbers lay across something unmovable. Yellow paint was just visible in the grim blackness of the scene. Water from the firefighters, who were still dousing the barn, landed in a jet around the tall pile. Frank motioned for the firefighters to hold off for a second.
"That's a digger, sir," said Denver.
"A digger?" said Frank. "What did...." It dawned on him why they would need a digger. "Oh god, no."
“We saw it being driven out of the barn and around here," Melody said, as she walked behind the barn. She could still feel the heat of the burned wood, but the fire was entirely out. The stink was unbearable.
She looked around her. It was the spot where Bruno had caught her. She remembered the soft earth but had only seen it in the dark before.
"Hey," she called to the firefighters, "you guys have spades?"
"Yeah, sure we do." A firefighter was stood waiting to continue dousing the fire.
"Think you can get us some?"
He called over his radio, and two shovels were brought across by a man with broad shoulders and black smeared across his face.
"Thank you, sir," said Melody. She took the shovels and passed one to Denver. She began to dig.
"Hey, we can do that for you,' said the firefighter.
"No, it's okay. In fact, I think it's best we clear this area."
"Are we okay to carry on now?"
"Yeah sure, thanks for your help," said Frank. He turned to Melody. "Is this going to be what I think it’s going to be?"
"We didn't have eyes back here, but look at the soil. It's freshly dug." There were four freshly dug areas. They stood at the one furthest from the barn. Melody presumed it was the first.