BODILY HARM a gripping crime thriller full of twists

by Charlie Gallagher

  BODILY HARM

  A gripping crime thriller full of twists

  CHARLIE GALLAGHER

  Langthorne Police Book 1

  First published 2017

  Joffe Books, London

  www.joffebooks.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The spelling used is British English except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect supersedes this.

  ©Charlie Gallagher

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  THERE IS A GLOSSARY OF ENGLISH AND POLICE SLANG IN THE BACK OF THIS BOOK FOR US READERS.

  GET BOOK 2 IN THIS SERIES NOW

  PANIC BUTTON

  https://www.amazon.co.uk/PANIC-BUTTON-gripping-thriller-twists-ebook/dp/B01N4WATRV/

  https://www.amazon.com/PANIC-BUTTON-gripping-thriller-twists-ebook/dp/B01N4WATRV/

  Someone is killing the officers of the Langthorne Police one by one. And in a sadistic twist he makes each victim push their radio panic button before they die, thus broadcasting their last moments to the entire force.

  CONTENTS

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  GET THE NEXT BOOK IN THIS SERIES NOW

  FROM CHARLIE GALLAGHER

  Vocabulary

  Character List

  Author’s Note

  I am inspired by what I do and see in my day job as a front-line police detective, though my books are entirely fictional. I am aware that the police officers in my novels are not always shown positively. They are human and they make mistakes. This is sometimes the case in real life too, but the vast majority of officers are honest and do a good job in trying circumstances. From what I see on a daily basis, the men and women who wear the uniform are among the very finest, and I am proud to be part of one of the best police forces in the world.

  Charlie Gallagher

  DEDICATION

  For my girls.

  Chapter 1

  The town of Langthorne had once been a popular holiday destination, and a highly desirable place to live. The old part of the town was made up of large Victorian townhouses, many of which had been converted into flats that continued to demand high prices despite the general economic malaise. The town’s coastal location meant that its economy had relied on holiday visitors until cheap foreign holidays killed the tourist trade. Langthorne, like many similar towns, now suffered high unemployment and social decline. With the sudden demand for council housing for people not in work, the government had commissioned new-build areas to put them in, or, as many people quipped, ‘Let’s put all the scum together.’ Epping Hill Estate (known to the locals as Effingell), on the edge of Langthorne, was a prime example of such a “solution.”

  Langthorne High Street was typical of any seaside town at the beginning of winter. With the sun down, the temperature had plunged and people pulled their coats closer as they stood in the early evening air, scented by chip shops and diesel fumes. Two sixth-formers, Jamie Horan and Sophie Hayward, stepped out of the chippie carrying overflowing cones. Sophie threw a chip at her friend and it bounced off his shoulder. She pointed a thumb at an elderly gent, indicating that he was the culprit. Jamie pretended to walk after him before turning round and laughing. Linking arms, they headed down the High Street with a solitary seagull limping in their wake.

  Sophie heard Lady Gaga playing in her schoolbag and stopped to retrieve her phone. She tucked her long brown hair behind her ear and answered the call. ‘Hey, Mum, I’m just on my way to the bus stop. No, Mum, I told you I was going to get the bus. Jamie’s walking me there, he’s here right now.’ Sophie rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, Mum! I’m coming straight home. Yes . . . I know it’s getting dark. Fine then, I will, yep, okay . . . okay, Mum.’ She ended the call, her smile returning as she looked at Jamie.

  He playfully bumped shoulders with Sophie. ‘Your mum’s worried about you.’

  ‘Of course she is. She knows I’m with you!’

  ‘Cheeky mare!’ Jamie laughed and threw a chip at her.

  ‘She always worries when it gets dark. She thinks that everyone who’s out after dark is a crazy random.’

  ‘Yeah, I heard. She’s not far wrong you know, Soph, this is Langthorne.’

  They arrived at the bus stop, pushing and shoulder barging each other, slapping hands that tried to snatch at quickly cooling chips. They had stayed on in town after school and wandered round the shops. Catching a later bus would allow them to avoid the teenage school crowd, all vying for the back seat to the sound of a million different ringtones, all shouting. The double-decker bus was already at the stop and they dumped their chip wrappers in a nearby bin, flashed their passes at the driver and hurried up to the top deck. Sophie squealed as she ran to the back and threw herself onto the long seat. ‘Back seat, yay!’

  Jamie followed more slowly. He put in a white headphone bud and sat down beside Sophie. She beamed at him again and turned to the window, wiping the condensation with her sleeve and peering out into the gloomy night.

  * * *

  Neither of them noticed the hooded figure follow them onto the bus and up to the top deck. Keeping his head down under his hood, he peered around from under his thick eyebrows to check that he was alone, save for the two kids he had seen walk over from the chip shop. He had heard much of their conversation, seen the girl playfully punch the boy. But more to the point, he had seen the phone. He had sized up the lad and seen the white iPod headphones hanging round his neck. It was only two stops until the bus reached the Epping Hill Estate. He had about eight minutes.

  The bus pulled away. No one else had come upstairs. The man sat close enough to listen to the young couple chatting. The lad had produced a copy of Autotrader magazine. He was going to do his driving test soon and he might get a Golf. The boy bragged about his parents footing the bill for ‘a decent one, just a couple of years old, they said.’

  The man felt for the knife in his jacket pocket, the rusty blade folded into the handle. It would be more than sufficient to get the job done, whether he used it or not. The girl’s incessant giggling cut through him — so natural, so carefree. His thoughts turned bl
ack. I’ll fucking change that.

  Four minutes from his stop, the man rose to his feet, rocking against the metal pole when the bus slowed for a corner. He felt in his pocket for the small bag of heroin wraps. Still there. He had checked it time and time again. With one hand on the knife in his pocket, he moved towards the kids at the back. They were absorbed in their conversation. The girl’s head was bent over the magazine, looking at a picture of a 2012 Volkswagen Golf. The man was standing right over them when they finally looked up.

  ‘Stay calm, kids. Just give me your fucking stuff and neither of you gets cut,’ he said quietly. He whipped the knife out of his pocket, the rust crunching as he fingered it open.

  The boy’s smile fell away. The girl gave a small gasp. Her wide eyes followed the blade as he moved it back and forth in front of their faces. Moving the knife was a good tactic. It should give them something to focus on other than his face, but it wasn’t working. The boy was looking at him, not the knife. He wasn’t showing the shock and fear the man had expected.

  ‘You got something to say, kid? You wanna get fucking hurt, you little cunt?’ The man’s voice was louder now. His hood fell back as he spat out the word ‘cunt.’ The kid was supposed to flinch but he hadn’t moved. ‘You can start with your iPod there, fella, then your wallet and your phone.’ He turned his attention and the knife blade to the girl. ‘And you! You can give me your phone and your cash.’

  * * *

  Jamie’s mind raced as he took in the figure standing in front of him. He was well built and had an ugly scar running along his right cheek, finishing up just under his ear. Faded tattoos on his neck crept down under a grubby T-shirt. His flushed, sweaty skin shone in the artificial bus lighting.

  Without thinking, Jamie brought a fist up under the man’s chin and rose to his feet. He was not particularly big for his age, but for several years he had been attending his dad’s self-defence classes and by now was pretty proficient. The blow forced the man to take a step backwards. Jamie whipped off his jacket and stepped forward and wrapped it round the hand that held the knife. He followed this with a sharp elbow to the face, using his momentum as he stepped into the man, who lost his footing as surprise and the movement of the bus conspired against him. Jamie knew he had to stay on the attack and he fell onto him, punching again and again. He put his knee on the jacket, and the knife clattered to the floor.

  Then a sharp pain made him gasp and straighten up. He twisted round and felt down the side of his body. His fingers came into contact with a needle. The metal tip was bent where it had been driven in. Jamie had no time to react. His vision blurred as a blow smashed into his nose. The man pushed him backwards and he crashed to the floor. The man stood up and kicked him. Jamie curled himself up to ward off the impact. Sophie let out a scream that reverberated through the bus. Jamie could only watch, helpless, as the man stepped over him, raised his arm and slashed at her. Sophie didn’t scream again.

  * * *

  The bus driver heard the scream. He was well used to kids mucking about up top, but this sounded serious. He slammed on the brakes and the three top-deck passengers were thrown forward.

  He began to mount the stairs. He looked up and saw a figure appear at the top. They stared at each other. The bus driver opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the man swung his boot. He hit the floor, and then the driver heard the bus doors hiss open, and his assailant flipped up his hood and disappeared into the night.

  Chapter 2

  Detective Sergeant George Elms had been trying to get to sleep for an hour. He’d just drifted off when the sound of his mobile phone echoed round the room. He fumbled for the lamp switch.

  ‘H . . . hello?’

  ‘Hello. I’m hoping this is George Elms? I’ve been given your number. I’m told you are the on-call DS for tonight.’

  ‘I’m the what?’

  ‘The on-call DS?’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course. Sorry. You woke me up.’ George propped himself up on his elbow.

  ‘Oh, Sorry. It’s John Adcock, I’m the patrol sergeant. I was hoping you would still be up and that I wouldn’t be disturbing you.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ George lied. ‘Luckily I’m in the spare room so you haven’t woken the wife up too.’

  ‘Well, we’ve all ended up there a few times, George,’ was the eventual reply.

  ‘Oh no, it’s not that. I mean, she’s pregnant and she gets up a lot in the night. I’ve got an early start so I kip in here so she doesn’t disturb me...’ George was aware that he had trailed off to a rambling stop.

  ‘I see.’

  ‘So is it just advice you’re after, or are you turning me out of my spare bed?’

  ‘I’m afraid we’re beyond advice by now. We’re gonna need you to come take a look.’

  George was forced to sneak back into his bedroom to get his clothes. He thought he had successfully negotiated the wardrobe in silence, using the light from his mobile phone screen, when Sarah’s voice made him jump.

  ‘And I was worried about waking you up!’

  Instinctively, George turned his light source towards the sound, blinding his wife with an image of their daughter.

  ‘Sorry, hon. I’ve been called in.’

  Sarah put an arm across her eyes to block out the light. ‘I didn’t think you were putting on a shirt and tie to get a glass of water.’

  ‘I’ll tip a glass of water over you in a minute! I’ve no idea when or if I’ll be back . . .’

  ‘Of course you don't. When do you ever?’

  ‘See you when I’m older!’ George left the room.

  * * *

  It was close to midnight when George arrived at the crime scene on the edge of the Epping Hill Estate. He clutched a coffee, hurriedly purchased from a nearby service station, trying to glean a little warmth from the cup. A double-decker bus with the interior lighting still on was skewed across the road, as if it had come to a stop in a hurry. Three patrol cars, each with their blue lights flashing, were at the scene, blocking the road to oncoming traffic. Other patrol cars were positioned further down the road to ensure the area remained sterile. Four uniformed police officers wearing high-visibility clothing were rubbing their hands and glancing longingly back at their heated vehicles.

  George parked his own Renault Laguna a short distance from the bus. The patrol sergeant walked towards him and indicated George’s coffee. ‘Ah, I was just about to send a PC to get the coffees in. We were waiting in case you wanted one.’

  George smiled. ‘I could go for another latte, thanks.’

  ‘White coffee it is. John Adcock. We spoke on the phone.’

  ‘Of course. What do we have, John?’

  The stocky sergeant took a breath. ‘Three victims in all. The incident started upstairs from what we can tell. A man with a knife had a go at robbing two kids from one of the local schools. It didn’t go too well.’

  ‘Kids?’ George took a sip of his coffee.

  ‘Both seventeen. The lad’s pretty shaken up but he’s given us a sketchy account. Says that they were sat in the back seat and some bloke in a hood suddenly went up to them. The man pulled a knife and demanded their phone, wallets et cetera. Seems the lad put up some resistance and there was a scuffle. He reckons he got a few hits in before the man stabbed him with a needle. It was left sticking out of his side.’

  ‘Dirty needle, I suppose?’

  ‘Quite possibly. The boy’s got a nervous few blood tests ahead of him, waiting to see just how dirty. The man then pulls his knife on the girl.’ The sergeant paused. ‘She received a nasty slash across the face and throat. It’s made a bit of a mess. The paramedic reckons it must have been a blunt blade so there was a lot of blood. Both her and the lad are at the hospital. It’s not a deep cut, just an ugly one that bled a lot. The bus driver was knocked out, the girl called us, it took the call-taker a little while to make sense of what she was saying by all accounts. I spoke to the driver briefly while he was getting patched up. Seems he
heard a scream, pulled over to see what was going on and got a boot in the face.’

  George watched two officers talking in low tones behind the sergeant. ‘So the driver’s in hospital too?’

  ‘Yeah, Langthorne General. They’re keeping him in for observation for the head injury, but he’s also got a suspected broken collarbone from the fall.’

  ‘He’ll still be there then. I think I’ll pop in on him when I’m done here. CSI not here yet?’

  ‘They’ve been contacted. They had already been called out to another job the other side of the county so they warned us it’ll be a long wait. We’ll be holding the scene all night anyway, so they may well wait and hand it over to the early turn.’

  George looked over to the bus, its lights and reflective livery standing out in the gloom. Beyond it was a park that bordered the Epping Hill Estate.

  ‘I’ll put another call in to CSI. I want them out sooner rather than later. Can you call up and make Control aware that we’ll need a search team here at first light?’

  ‘Yep, I’ll do that straight away.’

  ‘And, John, you might want to request a bigger resource here. We’re going to need to extend this cordon to cover the whole park, both sides of the bus.’

  Sergeant Adcock stared. ‘The whole park?’

  ‘Yeah, this bloke must have made off across the park and he may well have dropped something, stood on something or licked something, so we’ll need it kept sterile until the search team have done their bit.’

  ‘I’ll have to see what I can get here.’

  ‘Understood.’ George started walking towards the bus. Then he turned and said, ‘Oh, and John, how long was it between the incident and the police being called?’

  ‘A few minutes from what we can tell. Just long enough for our offender to get far enough away to give us a cat in hell’s chance of finding him.’

  George sniffed. He paused at the open bus doors before stepping on, avoiding the middle of the gangway and trying not to touch any of the handrails. He trotted up the stairs. Adcock had said the kids had been attacked on the back seat, but there were drops of blood all along the aisle. Sterile bandage wrappers fluttered in a draught from an open window. George used a tissue to push it shut. He noticed a well-defined footprint where some blood had pooled. No doubt the print came from a paramedic’s boot, but you never knew. Maybe they’d get lucky for once. A yellow plastic number two stood like a miniature sandwich board, the sort used by CSI to indicate something significant. George counted five others, each of them telling part of the story but he would need the gaps filling in.