KILL ME IF YOU CAN (Dave Cunane Book 8)

by Frank Lean

‘If you’re going in the BMW, I’ll have to come with you,’ No-Nose announced. ‘You could have had the Volvo on a loan but Bob wants the BMW back by lunchtime. He said something about the airport.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ I said, holding my hand out for the keys. ‘I just need to go home. There’s something I have to do.’

  I didn’t mention that I might need the speed of the BMW.

  Bob’s Beamer was a brand new X5M Sport with 355 horse power and white leather interior whereas the Volvo was two years old. It was nice of Bob to give me a choice. Cynically, I guessed at his motive. The offer of a ride in the new car had been necessary to lure Clint out of his bed. The big man was into cars in a big way.

  Lee reluctantly passed over the keys. I hopped in and No-Nose joined me. I quickly did a U-turn and headed out of Whitworth Street making for Chester Road and the M60.

  As I raced up the ramp onto the motorway in the early light I got my first glimpse of the distant eastern hills. A faint glow of dawn was backlighting the cloud streaked sky over the peaks. The rain had stopped and it looked as if it might stay fine for a while.

  I kept my foot down and raced for the intersection that would take me to the A34.

  I knew I might be heading back into danger. What would I find at Topfield? Would the bombers have come back and burned down the house for spite? Were they waiting for me? Somehow the coming daylight reassured me. I felt that my mysterious enemy preferred to operate in darkness.

  ‘You’re very patient, Mr C.’ Tony remarked. ‘I’d have been swearing like blue murder with Lee going on like that, but you never seem to do much of that. You never did much effing and jeffing when we were inside and everyone swears there, even the screws and the chaplains.’

  ‘No,’ I agreed, deciding to change the subject. ‘What is it with you and Lee? You’ve not come out of the closet, have you?’

  ‘No,’ he said, as evenly as if I’d asked him what his shoe size was. ‘We’re not gay. It’s just that Lee needs someone to keep him out of trouble and I seem to be the one.’

  ‘And who keeps you out of trouble, Tony?’

  ‘I’m going straight, honest, Mr C.’

  ‘He is,’ Clint chimed in. ‘He comes to help me at the farm some days.’

  I looked across at the battered face of No-Nose Nolan. The No-Nose bit came from a car accident he’d had as a child and from neglect in getting it fixed. His face was fearsome. He looked as if he’d done fifteen rounds with both Klitschko brothers simultaneously, Vitali and Wladimir taking it in turns to flatten his features. But his face is his fortune to the degree that he has any fortune. His looks made possible a career as a collector for various loan sharks mixed with petty crime. From that he’d graduated to become a minor gofer for Bob Lane.

  Scrawny and small as ever, he was looking more prosperous than the last time I saw him. He was wearing a respectable brown leather jacket, blue jeans and newish trainers.

  No-Nose is so pathetic that there’s something endearing about him. I could understand why Bob extended sympathy to him. He was like one of those three‑legged cats that people get attached to. You know you should have had it put to sleep after the accident but you find yourself stumping up for the vet’s bills.

  I left the A34 and turned onto the Handforth Bypass. If you visit the bypass anytime after midnight during the football season you’ll often see one of the local multimillionaire footballers testing his new sports car. It’s one of the few straight stretches in the area that isn’t booby trapped with speed cameras.

  I floored the accelerator and reached a hundred and twenty in a satisfyingly short time.

  ‘Speed limit’s seventy, Mr C,’ No-nose commented anxiously.

  ‘Who do you think you are, Tony, my wife?’ I said, enjoying the moment.

  Before No-Nose could reply both of us were startled by a thunderclap of laughter from Clint.

  The big guy thought I was incredibly funny.

  ‘No Nose isn’t your wife,’ he cackled. ‘Look at his face. Who’d marry him?’

  No-Nose looked at me and shrugged.

  I slowed down.

  There were tears streaming down Clint’s face. He kept on rocking backwards and forwards with laughter.

  We drove in silence after that and I kept within the speed limit.

  I was grateful for the BMW’s four-wheel drive when we reached the hills. Some of the lanes were half flooded. I approached Topfield Farm very carefully. First I drove past the gate slowly and then looped back. I did that twice. There didn’t seem to be any men with guns or red Mini-Coopers around. The building was intact. Even so I took my time. I parked in the entrance lane and walked up to the five bar gate ready to run for cover at the first sign of trouble.

  It was stupid but then I was crazy to have remained in the country. They could have sniped me like a sitting duck. Luckily my unknown enemies like to do things in a complex way.

  There was nothing.

  I opened the gate and drove into the yard.

  ‘Do you live here, Mr C?’ No-Nose asked wonderingly.

  ‘Yes, I did a lot of the building work myself.’

  ‘Must be worth a fortune, it’s the sort of place I used to break into.’

  ‘You can forget that.’

  ‘I told you. I’m as straight as a … as … as one of them giant spirit levels.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘Anyway, you’ve got cameras on it. I never touch a place with cameras.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Cameras, I’ve always been careful of them. You can do a job, come out clean as a whistle and then get yourself arrested a week later because you’re on Candid Camera. But, like, there are ways you can get round them.’

  I’d intended to go straight in, get paper and one of Jenny’s marker pens and make a notice proclaiming my ignorance of all events concerning Lew. I knew it was a feeble plan but it offered a slim chance. Janine approved and I told myself that I had to give her idea a try. I intended to offer them Lew’s unopened notebook as proof and to leave the office phone number for them to contact me.

  But…there are no security cameras at Topfield Farm.

  ‘There’s no camera,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, there is. Look up there. It’s underneath the guttering just below the barn roof. The roof overhangs and you can’t see it very well.’

  I screwed my eyes up and peered at the place he indicated.

  I still couldn’t see anything but then there was a gleam of reflected light as clouds shifted.

  ‘Did you forget about it?’

  ‘No, it just wasn’t there when I left.’

  Clint missed this exchange. He was once again having trouble exiting the BMW.

  ‘Clint, stay where you are,’ I said urgently. ‘We’re out of here.’

  If there was danger I’d have to face it alone.

  I scratched my head. Why go to the bother of installing a camera?

  ‘Hang about, Mr C,’ No-Nose said. ‘That camera’s focused on the porch door. It’s a narrow beam, like. I know the type. It’s an Israeli model. We haven’t crossed its field of view yet. Whoever put it there doesn’t know we’re here.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah, look at the lens. You’d need one of them big fisheye jobs to get this entire yard and the house front on one screen.’

  Hope flared.

  I looked back towards the lane. All I could see was a wall of dense foliage with a gap where the curving farm track led to Topfield. There was no movement in the gap and the only sound was the raucous dawn chorus. Unless they had another camera on the lane my arrival must have been unobserved.

  I listened for the high pitched sound of an approaching Mini Cooper.

  There wasn’t a peep, no noise of traffic and no movement.

  Meanwhile No-Nose moved closer to the barn wall.

  ‘Yeah, it’s one of them spy jobs,’ he said when he returned. ‘It’s really, really small. They mostly use them indoors and h
ide them in a flower vase or a bookshelf or something.’

  He raised his arms to signify a narrow field of view.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, someone wants to clock you going into your house. I’ll check the back.’

  He was off before I could stop him, hugging the barn wall under the spy camera and then disappearing behind the kitchen.

  Meanwhile, Clint joined the birds and began whistling tunelessly to himself. He returned my stare calmly.

  A long moment later No-Nose returned.

  ‘There’s another one of the bleeding nuisances stuck on that outhouse thingy you’ve got round there. It’s covering the back porch.’

  ‘You didn’t, er … ’

  ‘No, of course not, Mr C. What do you take me for?’

  ‘You’ve been caught before.’

  ‘That was only when someone turned up unexpectedly. Believe me, I know my way round cameras. Only the two, that’s all there are.’

  I did believe him but where did that get me?

  ‘I could get in the house without showing up on camera and have a look round if you like,’ he volunteered. ‘It’s not illegal because it’s your house.’

  ‘Why bother?’

  ‘I could get in easy just to set your mind at rest. I don’t need the doors. One of them bedroom windows is open a crack. I can get in there easy and I can see what they’ve been up to.’

  He pointed out the window.

  Damn! It was one of the windows of my bedroom, the same one I’d fired the shotgun from. In the excitement I’d forgotten to fasten it. Still it was too high up to be vulnerable.

  ‘But the camera …’

  ‘It’s just focused on the front door, Boss. No one will see me getting in through the window.’

  I thought for a minute. Maybe they’d left a message. I had to know.

  I got a ladder out of the barn.

  Clint carried the ladder and positioned it below the bedroom.

  I’ve done a lot of ladder work myself and my ascents are always ploddingly slow but No‑Nose went up like a monkey on a stick. It took him all of five seconds to open the window and disappear into the bedroom.

  Clint hugged himself and grinned with pleasure at being able to help out. I stood alongside him to wait for No-Nose. All sorts of fears crossed my mind. What if the cameras were to give a warning to someone inside the house? Someone waiting with a gun or a knife.

  When No-Nose reappeared via the ladder he was white and shaking like a leaf.

  ‘What?’

  He clung onto my arm.

  ‘There’s a bloody big bomb in the living room. We’ve got to get out of here.’

  10

  Tuesday: Dawn

  I backed the BMW down the drive and retreated along the country lane to a lay-by about half a mile away and parked. I left the engine running.

  I had difficulty in speaking.

  ‘What was the bomb like?’ I finally managed to croak. ‘Was it rigged to go off when the door opened?’

  ‘No, it was far more up to date than that. This was state of the art and it was set up by pros.’

  ‘Come on, Tony, how would you know that?’

  I left unspoken the thought that No-Nose was just a small time loan shark’s runner and unsuccessful housebreaker but he got my drift.

  ‘I just know,’ he said.

  There was a note of desperation in his voice that carried conviction but I had to be certain.

  ‘It was probably something Lloyd left as a joke and it spooked you.’

  ‘Lloyd’s your kid, is he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Goes on the internet a lot and finds the web sites which show you how to make bombs?’

  ‘He’s only five.’

  ‘Well then.’

  ‘Go on, I’m sorry.’

  ‘There was a big wad of grey plastic explosive stuck on your coffee table with a mobile phone on top of it.’

  ‘A phone,’ I repeated stupidly. I was sickened. I knew what he was going to say next but I needed to hear him say it.

  ‘Yeah, there was a wire running down from the phone to a detonator. The bastard who set it up sees you going in on his bloody spy camera, presses speed dial on his phone and then bingo! No more Mr C.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I croaked feebly.

  ‘It’s a big f**king mother of a bomb, Mr C. There won’t be much of your nice house left if it goes off.’

  ‘Listen, there’s only one thing to do. You’ll have to stay here with Clint while I go back to the house and make sure no one goes in by mistake.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, I stay here with Clint then when I hear a f**king big bang I go to Bob Lane and tell him that I’ve let his mate get blown into tiny pieces and don’t tell me you aren’t intending to shift that phone.’

  I looked at him sideways.

  ‘Think about it Mr C. The guys that set that bomb can’t be far away. Those spy cameras can’t send a signal very far. They have to be near. If you go charging up there it’s ten to one they’ll spot you.’

  ‘And if they see you they’ll do nothing?’

  ‘I’ll go in and out the same way I did before. They’ll never spot me.’

  ‘But they just need a glimpse.’

  ‘Logically, they wouldn’t have set up electronic observation if they were also eyeballing the place.’

  It was hard to fault his reasoning. If they’d had Topfield under close watch we’d all be dead already. Reasoning? What was I reasoning with No‑Nose Nolan for?

  ‘I don’t like this, Tony. I’d rather let the house be blown up than have you taking a chance with something you know nothing about.’

  He let out a long sigh.

  ‘I haven’t told anyone this but I trust you, Mr C.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Last time I was in prison I caught meningitis. They got my mother in and the priest and everything and said I was going to die, that there was irreversible brain damage. But I didn’t die.’

  ‘Yeah, I can see that.’

  ‘When I recovered everything was different. My mum says I even talk differently but the thing was I only had to look at something once and I could remember it perfectly. I can do sums in my head too.’

  ‘What’s twelve twelves?’

  ‘A hundred and forty four, but I meant harder sums than that.’

  ‘What’s five hundred and seventy six times ten thousand and twenty one?’

  His eyes closed for no more than a second and then rapped out, ‘Five million, seven hundred and seventy two thousand and ninety six.’

  I took out my phone and turned on the calculator function. He was right. It took me much longer to find the answer than it did for him to say it.

  I had little time to waste on astonishment. I gaped at his battered face for a second. ‘What does this have to do with bombs?’

  He looked embarrassed.

  ‘I don’t like to say where I did it but I’ve had a good look at several books about bombs, things terrorist groups and anarchists have downloaded from the internet and there’s other stuff as well.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The bomb in your house is like one of those IEDs they use against our troops in Afghanistan.’

  ‘IED?’

  ‘Improvised explosive device, it’s a NATO acronym.’

  ‘You’re serious aren’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s like my brain’s been reconditioned.’

  ‘Reconditioned?’

  ‘You know, like the cars on Discovery Channel. These people buy a heap of junk, like I used to be, and they recondition it. They rebuild it and sell it for thousands of dollars.’

  ‘So your brain’s worth thousands of dollars?’

  ‘No, you know what I mean. I can’t stop wanting to learn things.’

  He patted his jacket pocket. There was a thick paperback book in it. He pulled it out and handed it to me. I read the title in the poor light, Engineering Mathematics: A Foundation for Electronic, Electrical, Communications
and Systems Engineers.

  Full of suspicion, I flicked the book open to check that it wasn’t some collection of porn. It contained a mass of diagrams and formulae. I glanced at the information on the back of the book. It said the text was useful up to second year honours degree level.

  ‘Honestly, Mr Cunane, I have to keep reading. It’s like a disease. I’m afraid that if I stop my brain will go back to what it was before.’

  ‘God, Tony, your brain really has been reconditioned,’ I said, handing back the book. ‘It must be turbo charged if you think this is light reading.’

  ‘All right then, I’ll be off,’ he said.

  ‘Be careful, Einstein.’

  ‘I will be. You keep your ears open for a bang … just joking. It should be easy but I need to be there sharpish. They may decide to put up more cameras.’

  He opened the passenger door. I grabbed his arm.

  ‘I can’t let you go. I can always rebuild the house but…’

  ‘No, listen, Mr C, I need to do this for myself. I don’t want to become a nerd who only knows things in books. I’ve wasted a lot of time out of my life and now I need to do things, hard things. If there’s an anti‑handling device on this IED I’ll cope with it. Believe me, I’ll be perfectly safe.’

  He pulled free and began jogging up the lane. His slight figure quickly merged into the long early morning shadows.

  Ten minutes later I was parked nearer Topfield Farm waiting to hear whether No‑Nose had achieved death or glory. The alternative of phoning the police had occurred to me. I like to tell myself that I’m not that different from a normal citizen.

  Lew’s warning not to trust the police rang in my ears like the Crack of Doom. Thinking of him brought on a twinge of guilt. I persuaded myself that there could be good reasons why he hadn’t answered his phones.

  It was hard to believe that just twenty four hours earlier I’d been sleeping in my bed with just a routine Monday morning in front of me. No, that wasn’t right; I had the coming baby to look forward to. The ups and downs of family life had become my focus. The days when I would charge around Manchester thinking I was some sort of latter-day Robin Hood were long gone.

  Or were they?

  I was allowing poor battered No-Nose Nolan to risk his neck and his ‘reconditioned brain’ to save my property. I’d accepted the flimsiest of evidence that he’d suddenly become a bomb-disposal expert and let him go ahead.