“We’ll be in touch,” Bev Carmichael called after him.
Later that afternoon, Adam was still angry at the lack of response from his ex-colleagues. Under his breath, he muttered to himself, “You want proof? I’ll give you fucking proof,” as he attached a home security camera system to the wall above, and to the right, of his front door. “If I catch them doing something on film, they’ll have to take action. I’m doing the bloody police’s job for ‘em.”
Chapter 13
11:00 – Saturday 3rd November.
The heavy punchbag swung back and forth as Aaron’s padded gloves pounded into it.
The dull thud of leather hitting leather - the explosive exhalation of air from his lungs with each punch - the increasing tempo as he built towards a climax. He danced around the bag, his head bowed, protected behind his gloved defence, the sweat dripping off his entire body.
“TIME!” called the trainer, standing to one side. “Go get a shower. Well done, lad.”
Aaron staggered towards the chairs that lined the far wall of the gym, sat down heavily, exhausted, and began removing his boxing gloves, loosening the laces with his teeth. He inhaled deeply, the distinctive aroma of stale bodies mingling with that of muscle liniment, and opened a clear plastic water bottle. He took a sip before pouring the remainder of its contents over his head. It dripped from his body, forming a puddle between his feet. Gradually, his heavy breathing slowed and returned to normal.
“Clarke’s Gym” was Aaron’s second home. Located in a backstreet just off the pedestrianised shopping precinct, it was his escape from reality, his escape from the monotony of estate life. Having been raised on the notorious Glebe Estate, fighting had always been a part of his life. However, when he joined the army, he discovered that they had their own variety of combat – milling, they called it – a form of sparring without rules. Aaron loved it. It suited his natural aggression and combative spirit. Unfortunately, the injuries he caused to his fellow recruits were testimony to the fact that he did not know when enough was enough. The trainers saw his potential, but his natural abilities needed channelling in the right direction. They suggested boxing as an extracurricular activity and Aaron never looked back, he was devoted to the sport. It was something that he excelled at, something that instilled discipline, and it became a way to control his internal frustrations with the world around him. Although his military career faltered, his love of boxing endured, and his first task on returning to Barrington was to locate, and join, the nearest gym. “Clarke’s Gym” was his chosen refuge.
As he unwound the sweat-stained bandages from his fists, Aaron heard the squeal of the swing doors to his left. He looked towards them to see Archie Smith standing in front of the boxing ring, looking around at those still training. Archie was tall and skinny, some might liken him to a beanpole, but he preferred to think of himself as wiry. He could fight, when needed, but he was not a boxer; he preferred the use of weapons to fists. As he scanned the faces, he spotted Aaron sat to one side. He smiled and wandered over to him.
“Good workout?” he asked.
“Yeah, it was OK, I guess.” Archie was one of the trusted leaders of Aaron’s crew. “Any reaction from Greenwood yet?”
Archie grinned as if recalling something funny. “We caught him watching us as we hung around outside his house. He didn’t look too pleased, but he didn’t come out to have a go at us or nothing.” He scratched the tip of his nose. “Some of us scared the shit out of his wife the other morning too. We stopped her outside the school. She looked pretty edgy. And you know about the damage to his van?”
“Yeah, I heard you done a good job on his tyres.”
Archie laughed louder and fist pumped Aaron. “It was cool, man. Put some lovely scratches down its side too.”
“But he hasn’t retaliated?”
“Nah, but he must ‘ave been to the cops; Jared had a visit from ‘em. They said that Greenwood ID’d him on an ID Parade thing and that he’d been seen outside the house a few times.”
“But they didn’t nick him?”
“No! He said they never had any evidence on him. Sounded like he was the only one who’d been identified. He told ‘em nothing either, so they just left. By the sounds of it, Greenwood is getting pretty rattled though.”
“Good.” Aaron smirked at the thought. “We’re clearly getting to him. I think it’s time we upped the ante a bit, don’t you?”
Archie nodded. “What we gonna do?”
“Well, I want you and the lads to continue hassling him at home. I want him, and his missus, followed – discretely. We need to find the perfect opportunity, away from prying eyes, in which to have a word. When the time’s right, we need to be more specific; Greenwood and his wife need to know exactly what we want.”
“What exactly is that?”
“For him to withdraw from Josh’s court case. If he does, then the only evidence against Josh is that copper’s word against his own. They’ll still believe the cop, but my lawyer reckons he can swing it by introducing reasonable doubt.”
Archie looked unsure, but nodded his agreement. “OK.”
“Look, I want Greenwood to know exactly what’ll happen if he refuses. Give him the option to agree of his own volition...”
“Good word,” interrupted Archie.
“Shut up! But if he says he won’t do it, make it clear that him, AND his family, will pay the price. Scare him, scare his wife, scare the kid, make them suffer.” Archie nodded again. “Let’s increase the pressure on ‘em, too. Get the boys to start making silent phone calls, heavy breathing, that sort of stuff, especially when the woman is on her own. I’ll leave all the details to you to sort out, but keep me updated on how it all goes.”
“OK, I’m on it. I’ll get the lads prepared, and then ramp-up the pressure on Greenwood and his tribe. They’ll wish they’d never got involved.”
Archie was smiling to himself as he sauntered out of the gym and back towards the Glebe Estate.
Chapter 14
17:40 – Thursday 15th November.
Barrington’s seafront was long, exposed, and sweeping.
With the town positioned at its centre, the promenade covered a four mile stretch of the coastline and was perfect for running along. It was flat and spacious with streetlights positioned at regular intervals along its expanse, and although its central section was lined with shops, cafes, and penny arcades, and was usually busy during the summer months, its distant extremities were remote and quiet. Alongside it ran a narrow sandy beach, and almost dead centre sat the now derelict Victorian Pier stretching out into the waves.
It was a place that Sarah visited often, a place where she could jog in peace whilst listening to her favourite tunes on her wireless earphones, and a place where she could relax as she gazed in awe at the scenic landscape around her.
But on a cold November evening, Barrington’s seafront was dark and virtually deserted. With a steady breeze blowing off the ocean and flakes of snow in the air, the only people brave enough to venture out were a couple of dog walkers – and Sarah.
Shivering as she climbed out of her Fiat 500, she stood in the empty car park pulling on her running gloves and tugging her woolly hat until it covered her ears. Dressed in a combination of fluorescent-yellow and neon-pink Lycra, she was hard to miss, not that there was anyone around to see her.
“Remind me, why am I doing this?” she asked herself.
Taking a quick glance at her GPS running watch, she pressed the ‘go’ button and set off for her 30 minute jog. She passed the boarded-up entrance to the pier with its warning signs - “Do not enter. DANGER!” - and headed north, past the closed tourist arcades. As she left the town in her wake, the promenade stretched before her, the line of evenly spaced white streetlights pointing her way. She could hear the crashing of the waves as they broke upon the beach, but with the heavy cloud cover, everything was cloaked in darkness, the only visible object being a random beacon perched on the crest of the distant
headland.
At the furthest point, she stopped to catch her breath, checked her pace and distance, and then turned for the return leg of her run. She preferred the inbound section as the town was always lit like a Christmas tree making it easier for her to judge distance and speed in the dark. Plus, psychologically, it was always better running back towards the warmth of her car and the promise of a hot chocolate when she got home. This particular evening, the return leg dragged! She had a strong headwind, slowing her pace and causing her face to go numb. She licked her lips, the taste of salt on her skin making her tongue tingle.
As she neared the lights of civilisation, her pace increased noticeably. “Nearly there. Almost finished,” she huffed. She could finally see the car park, her lonely white car standing out in the darkness. It was still on its own, but there were people near it. What were they up to? As she got closer, they became a little more distinct, highlighted in the car park’s security lighting. There were three men; two wearing hoods, the other in some sort of woolly hat and scarf. Sarah did not recognise any of them.
She had put all of the recent disturbances outside her home to the back of her mind, there having been no reoccurrences for a while. At least, she had not seen anybody personally. Adam had not mentioned people loitering outside either, but had he just been keeping things to himself? He had been a bit secretive just recently. But now, with strangers surrounding her car, she suddenly felt vulnerable again. She was in two minds whether to go straight back to her vehicle and to confront them, or whether it might be more prudent to run past the car park, into town, where she would feel safer. She could return later, after they had gone. She decided on the latter, but as she drew level, watching from a distance out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the men climb onto the bonnet of her car, laughing as he joked with his mates.
Sarah was enraged. How dare he do that! Not being somebody who feared confrontation, and not taking time to consider the risks involved, she altered course and jogged towards the group.
“Oi, YOU, get off my car!” she yelled from the shadows.
Having not spotted Sarah, all three men searched the darkness for the source of the voice. As she broke into the arc of light from the nearest streetlamp, they could see who had shouted and laughed as they turned to face her.
“I said OFF!” she screamed at the person still sat on her bonnet.
“Or what, Mrs G, you gonna get your husband to beat us up?”
It was like a bolt of lightning striking her from above, the sudden realisation that this group of strangers actually knew who she was, knew her name, and knew her husband. She was confused, in shock, but it did not take long to realise that they were somehow connected to the ongoing problems at home. But what were they after?
“What do you want?” she asked, the anger and confidence gone from her voice, replaced by confusion and anxiety.
“Funny you should ask. Get your husband to withdraw from the case against Josh Turner.”
“He’ll never do that; he’s an ex-copper.”
The men looked taken aback. This was clearly new information to them. They had not counted on him having connections to the police force. The self-appointed leader stepped towards Sarah, a menacing look upon his face. Shrugging his shoulders, he said, “Whatever, it makes no difference.” He leaned in towards her and added, “Better get him to drop the case or people will get hurt.” He shoved her to reinforce his point. She stumbled and fell to the ground. Standing over her, invading her personal space, intimidating her, he continued, “You’re an easy target. We can get to you anytime we want. How’s your daughter, by the way? She wasn’t too scared by that group outside her school the other day, was she?”
For the second time in a minute, realisation hit Sarah hard. Everything was linked: her husband detaining Turner, the trouble outside their house, being blocked by those unruly youths outside the school. They were actively targeting her family. She feared the worst. What would they do next? For once, she had no words as she awaited their next move. But instead of attacking her, the three men turned and began walking away. One of them looked back over his shoulder.
“Just tell him to withdraw his evidence. Make it easy on yourselves.”
For a few moments, Sarah sat motionless on the cold concrete, unsure what she ought to do. The sudden realisation that she was unharmed dawned on her. As the adrenaline coursed through her body, she began shaking. Panic began to set in. She jumped in her car and drove home at speed, the journey a complete blur. She needed Adam. She needed her husband to comfort her.
...
Sarah sipped the amber liquid from the whiskey glass cradled in her hands. She was still jittery, still shaking, still not quite believing what had just happened to her.
Adam sat silently, his arms resting on the wooden dining table that separated them. He was digesting the information that his wife had just told him, and he too, was shaking, not with fear or shock, but with contained anger, tinged with a little guilt. What had he got his family into?
Trying to sound positive, he said, “Right, now we know for sure why they’re targeting us. This confirms that it’s all linked together. But who’s doing it? Turner’s friends? His family? His gang?” Sarah did not reply, but continued staring into her glass. “Carmichael mentioned that his family had visited him in prison, but it could be any one of ‘em.”
“I don’t care who it is,” Sarah snapped, “just get it to stop.” She began to sob. “They threatened Jenny! They know her school. They know me. Just pull out of the bloody court case and then they’ll leave us alone.” She was desperate, clutching at straws.
“I would, but it’d make no difference,” countered Adam. “I’d be called as a hostile witness, and if I refused to attend, I’d be arrested for contempt of court. I’d be the one getting locked up.”
“What are we gonna do?” Sarah was shaking again.
“I’m going to tell the police. They can’t ignore it now. We’ve got proof that they’re trying to intimidate us, interfere with witnesses.”
He was interrupted by the telephone ringing.
“Hello?” Silence. “Hello? Who is this?” Still no voices. “Speak you bastards!” Adam heard distant laughter, followed by a ringtone as they hung up.
...
By 9pm, Sarah and Adam had been joined at their dining table by DS Carmichael. Each had a mug of steaming coffee before them, and each listened intently as Sarah recounted the events of earlier.
“Would you be able to identify any of the men?” Bev asked, once Sarah had finished her tale.
“Maybe, maybe not! It was so quick, and it was dark, and they all looked the same with their hoods up.”
Adam could see the direction that the conversation was heading. As with the anti-social behaviour, as with the damage to his van, and the men outside the school; without evidential proof, this investigation was going nowhere.
“What about CCTV footage from the cameras along the seafront and the car park?” he suggested.
“Yeah, I got a uniformed patrol to check it as soon as I got your call.” She paused, looking a little embarrassed. “You’re not gonna believe it, but the car park cameras are U/S, not one of them is working properly. As for the others on the promenade, there was nothing conclusive.”
Adam’s heart sank. “But it’s definitely witness intimidation. What about some protection, or a unit outside the front door?”
Bev smiled, thinking to herself, you’ve been watching too many US crime dramas, mate; we can’t afford that. Outwardly, she replied, “If what your wife says is true...”
Adam cut her off. “What? You calling my wife a liar?” He was angry and not in any mood to have Sarah’s word questioned.
“No, no, no,” Bev back-pedalled, “it’s just that with no other witnesses, it’s one word against another. I’ve no doubt that what you’ve just told me is accurate, but would a jury believe it?”
“So you’re telling me you’ll do nothing about it? What abo
ut the nuisance phone call?”
“I’ll get a trace put on your phone, but as you know, it’ll take a while to arrange. Until then, record every call yourselves - content, times, dates etc - OK? I’ll get my team to have a word with Turner’s brother and his known associates, get them warned off.”
Quick to jump on this slip of the tongue, Adam interrupted, “Ah, so it IS his brother who’s the ringleader? What’s his name? I’ll get a court injunction against him.”
“I didn’t say that. I can’t divulge that sort of information to you. I just said I’d have a word – just in case.”
“Look, off the record, is it a fair bet that it was him who started all of this?”
Beverly Carmichael did not answer, but both looked deep into each other’s eyes, a telepathic confirmation passing between them.
Adam knew who the most likely suspect was.
Chapter 15
10:20 – Tuesday 20th November.
ASDA was always busy on a Tuesday morning.
With Sarah working at the Travel Agents, it fell to Adam to do the week’s food shopping. With his list in hand, he pushed the trolley – the one with the wonky front wheel that he always seemed to get – up and down each aisle, piling the groceries into it until it was almost full. He hated shopping, but it was a necessary evil. He knew where each product was located, which aisle, which shelf, and so it normally became a quick dash around the supermarket, then home before the frozen goods began to thaw. But today was different. The shop staff had been busy since his last visit. There were Christmas decorations everywhere – a little too early for Adam’s liking – and with these changes, the shelves had been reorganised; nothing was where it ought to have been. Adam needed to resort to old-fashioned methods, to following a systematic approach to the shopping, going up one aisle, down the next, and so on, so as not to miss anything. It frustrated him, but he had no choice.
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