Nemesis

by Roger A Price

  Turning back to Harry, Vinnie said, “Will cell-siting have got that do you think?”

  “Better than that hopefully,” Harry said.

  Suddenly panicking, Vinnie asked, “Has the line – telephone interception – gone live on my phone already?” Hoping that it had not.

  “No, I was about to tell you that the Home Secretary knocked back the application.”

  “What?” said Vinnie with what he thought was a little too much emphasis.

  “Yes, he said that cell-siting would give us the location of the handset being used so, there was nothing to be gained by allowing the further intrusion caused by a full interception.”

  Vinnie remembered that if one party to a phone conversation was consensual to it being monitored – i.e. him – the authority level dropped down to assistant chief. As if reading what he was thinking, Harry continued. “But due to the sensitivities surrounding this case, our chief referred the job up to the Home Sec as part of it had to go before him anyway.”

  Vinnie didn’t know which part Harry was referring too, but felt a mixture of relief that the conversation he’d just had had not been overheard, and annoyance at their chief’s lack of mettle. After all, that was why he was paid a lot of money; to make the tough decisions.

  “However, fear not …” Harry started before his own mobile rang and interrupted him.

  Vinnie looked on as he took the call. Delany didn’t say a lot, just um-ed and aah-ed. After a couple of minutes of silence he suddenly looked up and stared Vinnie in the eye before ending the call.

  “Good news?” Vinnie asked.

  “Depends on your point of view, Vinnie. I was about to tell you that the Home Sec had authorised a Line; but on Jimmy’s phone as opposed to yours, as that’s nearer to the threat Moxley has over Jimmy’s and Johnson’s lives.”

  Vinnie didn’t answer.

  Harry maintained his stare. “So, when were you going to tell me you tried to kill Moxley?”

  Chapter Forty-two

  Vinnie didn’t answer right away. He was unsure what to say or do. That simple lapse of judgement was coming back to hit him straight in the face. He could feel his cheeks reddening, an involuntary reaction that Harry would clearly see.

  “I’m waiting, Palmer,” Harry said, his diction hardening. “And, just so we are clear, that last call I took was from London, so I know exactly what Moxley said to you moments ago.”

  Vinnie knew this, of course, but was surprised by the speed of the intelligence flow from eavesdropper to Harry. He quickly replayed the conversation back through his mind while considering his options. He knew his next comments would be all-defining as to what happened next. A question first. “Okay, Harry, before I answer you, can I remind you that anything picked up via an authorised warrant of interception of a telephone call can never be used in evidence.” Vinnie knew that unlike the States and most other countries, phone taps in the UK could not be used in court. The information was intelligence only designed to drive and direct investigations to where actual evidence could be found. He knew Harry would know this, but he was buying himself some thinking time while he also assessed Harry’s demeanour.

  “How dare you,” Harry roared before pausing, taking a deep breath and continuing. “I’ll tell you what, Palmer, I could arrest you now, take your gun and clothing and have your hands swabbed. That would prove your weapon had been fired and that you fired it. You are no doubt covered in gunshot residue. Would that be evidence enough? And how does attempted murder sound for the charge?”

  Vinnie realised he’d made a tactical error. Normal cop response to any pile of crap they found themselves in was to start off by admitting nothing, but Vinnie knew this was often a flawed strategy; alienating the very people who could help you. He had to think fast.

  Harry continued, “I mean, what the hell where you thinking? You knew your authority to carry was for defensive purposes only. If we don’t do things by the book, maniacs like Moxley, when eventually caught, might walk away with a not guilty simply because the jury turn against us.”

  Vinnie thought that highly unlikely in this case, what with all the hard evidence they had against Moxley, but didn’t voice it. The principle of what Harry was saying was true enough.

  “Now you are no better in Moxley’s eyes than that bent bastard Dawson,” Harry said. “And you’ve turned yourself into a potential target. It just gets worse.”

  Vinnie watched Harry support his head with his hands and felt sorry for what he was putting him through. He knew he had to try and keep Harry onside and had one chance. “It’s not what you think,” he started, as Harry looked up, “as wrong as I know my actions were I only fired warning shots.”

  “Shots. So you had more than one go before actually hitting him?”

  “You’ve just heard me say to Moxley that it was just a warning. And when I said that, I’d no idea that the phone interception on Moxley’s phone was in place.”

  Harry didn’t answer, so Vinnie continued, “I fired two shots into the air – we were on top of a multi-storey car park, so there was no danger to the public. There was no way I was going to catch Moxley. I acted instinctively in order to slow him down. He had his back to me so he wouldn’t know this, probably assumed I was firing at him.”

  “Weren’t you?”

  “No, honestly. I must have winged him by accident. I was running at the time,” Vinnie lied.

  He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his weapon’s magazine minus two rounds and put it on Harry’s desk, followed by his gun. “See, there is no need to arrest me to get the facts. You can check for yourself, two rounds missing from the mag, and I’m admitting to you what I did. But, Harry, you’ve got to believe me, I didn’t try to shoot Moxley. If I had, then …” He let his words trail off.

  “You’d have no doubt missed,” Harry said as he picked up Vinnie’s gun. He checked the breech and then the magazine.

  “If I accept what you say, you are not guilty of attempted murder, but are guilty of unlawfully discharging your weapon – an internal discipline offence of gross misconduct and other breaches of the police regs – plus potentially a criminal offence under the Firearms Act of discharging a section one firearm in a public place as when you did what you did, you were outside of your police authority.”

  Vinnie hadn’t considered Firearms Act offences. Harry may well be right. He knew the CPS would have to look at that and decide if it was in the public interest to prosecute. Even if they didn’t, an internal disciple panel could sack him; but anything would be better than attempted murder – that would mean serious prison time. A thought he pushed from his mind.

  Silence between them. Vinnie filled the impasse, “Harry, as dumb as what I did was, it was a reaction. I had to stop him before he committed further atrocious acts.”

  Harry looked up from his hands with what appeared to be a hint of sympathy in his countenance.

  “This isn’t the States, Vinnie; you know how strict the rules are here, even if Moxley doesn’t deserve to live.”

  “But, Harry, I’ve told you the whole truth,” Vinnie lied, “I was just …”

  Harry waved his hand and continued, “I hear what you say, Vinnie,” he started, using his first name again, “but you’ve placed me in one hell of a moral dilemma. Don’t forget that London knows what they have just told me, so I can’t ignore it even if I wanted to. Just stay put, I need to think. You’re a good detective, Vinnie, but I always feel like you are on the point of ballsing up.”

  Vinnie didn’t answer. He knew could be impetuous at times. He watched Harry rise and leave the room, closing the door behind him. He blew out a breath as the pressure eased slightly. He sat back into the chair and wondered what was going to happen next. Then he wondered what the hell would have happened if he had killed Moxley, how would he have explained that away? At least he’d not done too much damage, apparently. And had he become as bad as Dawson? Those words had cut. He remembered Piper in the boot of the car. O
f course, Vinnie hadn’t known he was there when he’d opened fire. He only hoped Piper hadn’t heard the discharges because at some stage, someone from professional standards was going to be asking him, he had no doubt about that.

  The next twenty minutes passed with increasing slowness before Harry eventually returned. Door closed and re-seated, he spoke, “I’ve just taken some advice.”

  “Oh God, not the chief?”

  “No, not yet. I’ve spoken to my old boss, who is now retired, mentioning no names. I always valued his counsel and, thanks to you, I need it now. Let’s get one thing straight, Vinnie, even if I accept your version of events, others may not. There will have to be an investigation and that investigation will no doubt be supervised, or run by the IPCC.”

  Vinnie’s heart sank, he’d forgotten about the Independent Police Complaints Commission.

  “The way it stands now, you are either an attempt murderer of just a rule-breaker. One will require me to arrest you pending criminal investigation; the other will require me to suspend you pending internal investigation. Your liberty or your badge. Or both really.”

  Another pause, Vinnie filled it, “What did your old boss say?”

  “Told me to sleep on it. So that’s what I intend to do. You will go to a hotel. I can’t give you your gun back, and if you go home then there is a risk from Moxley. An increased risk, thanks to you, so go to a hotel in the city centre and be back here at 8 am sharp. Now get out.”

  Chapter Forty-three

  Moxley snapped the phone shut as he jumped off the grit bin. Had the Traffic Warden been telling the truth? Had he only meant to fire warning shots? Or had he been trying to kill him? He wasn’t sure what to believe. He mused over this as he made his way to the gate set back in the overgrown hedgerow. A quick look about and, once happy he was alone; he removed the lock, entered, relocked the gate and then took the concrete steps to another gate built on the side of sheer banking and effectively leading to below ground level.

  He couldn’t wait to see Jimmy again and felt himself stiffen at the prospect. He was tempted to deal with Stench first, and that thought made him even harder. But, on reflection, he’d have to wait. He didn’t want to put Jimmy off. So it would be Jimmy first and then he’d sort Stench out.

  *

  Johnson hadn’t realised he’d been asleep until he woke. After eventually calming down, he must have dropped off. He had no idea how long he’d been out of it, but it was still daylight. Then the pain in his right wrist kicked in and he glanced to see the redness and swelling from when he’d lost it earlier and been frantically waving his arms and tugging at his chain. And then he noticed the mortar dust on his mattress. Not much, but enough to send his mood soaring. He quickly examined its anchorage point and saw that the bolt was proud of the wall by a couple of centimetres. He didn’t know how long the bolt was. Or how long it had been there. But it had moved.

  Ignoring the sharp stabbing pains that shot up and down his forearm, he started yanking on the chain. Nothing. He decided to shorten the time between the yanks, but make them more explosive. The first one hurt like hell and his resolve dropped on seeing that the bolt was still fast.

  He allowed himself a couple of minutes for the pain to ease and tried again. Still nothing, though the pain was ten times worse. It took longer to subside. He tried again and nearly passed out with the agony, until he felt and heard the bolt move. More dust. Elation raged through him and a sudden burst of adrenalin numbed the pain slightly.

  Once more; harder this time. More pain, more movement and more elation. The bolt must be halfway out now he hoped. He allowed himself a longer breather as the pain had beaten his adrenalin’s earlier defences.

  He’d been using both hands on the chain on each pull, but the force of his efforts always ended up with both hands sliding off and the chain coming to an abrupt stop by his tethered wrist. He decided to try with his free hand while his damaged right wrist recovered some more from the self-inflicted torture. He glanced at his wrist; it was mess. He could feel his own hot slippery blood running down his arm as its acrid metallic aroma filled his nostrils.

  He was hoping that the bolt was now more than dislodged so he could manage with only one hand, but nothing. The bolt steadfastly refused to yield any further save for the smallest amount of dust, but its movement had effectively stopped.

  He wasn’t the strongest of men and wasn’t sure how much more pain he could take. At the last two-handed attempt he’d seen flashing lights dance around his peripheral vision like flashlights going off.

  Then he heard a noise. He froze and listened. It was the sound of a gate being opened, but not the one into the room. He heard it close and the sound of feet spinning around on concrete. Jimmy; he’d kept his word, gone for help; he’ll be free at last. He waited a moment expecting to hear his rescuers shout out. Then a second thought occurred. It filled him with horror as it lanced straight through him. He couldn’t risk waiting to find out.

  Two-handed, he yanked once more on his manacle, but with even greater force than before. This was going to hurt, but before his hands slipped off the end and his wrist came to its usual agonising stop, he felt and heard the crunch of the bolt losing its final grip on the wall. For a split second he thought he’d finally crunched the bones in his wrist but, no, it was definitely the bolt.

  Its release saved Johnson from the worst of the pain as his arm flew free with the chain in tow. He heard footsteps descending stairs, but still no shouts of reassurance. He ran to the hole carrying the loose chain in his hand. He risked a glance back as he quickly started down the ladder. Nothing. But as soon as he was fully below floor level, he heard the creak of the second gate opening. Glancing down, he could discern a raging torrent of drain-water fifteen or twenty feet below, he couldn’t tell exactly how far down it was. He let go of the ladder and jumped.

  *

  At the bottom of the concrete stairs Moxley unlocked the second steel gate, which creaked to announce his arrival. The space beyond was gloomy and grew darker as he walked in. He instinctively looked to his left and as his eyes adjusted he saw that the mattress he’d been sharing with Jimmy was empty. He halted as he searched the room, no Jimmy. Then he let out a howl which resounded around the chamber. No Jimmy and no Stench.

  Instinctively, he checked behind him but no one was waiting to ambush him. Over to his right he could see brick dust on the empty mattress where Stench had been. It took a few seconds to register; no way could Stench have wrestled that chain’s securing bolt from the mortar in the wall on his own. He could hardly take it in; Jimmy must have helped him. More betrayal. Greater treachery. He rushed over to the opening and grabbed the top of the metal ladder as he peered down into the abyss. Nothing, but the light only carried so far and he could hear the water raging below.

  Decision time. Did he go after them? Or get as far away from here as he could while he still had the chance. He hated moral dilemmas; but he hated Jimmy and Stench even more right now. He checked behind himself once more, as if expecting to see the Traffic Warden and his juniors come rushing in to nab him.

  What to do?

  Chapter Forty-four

  Vinnie left Rochdale nick, grateful that it was evening time and the incident room was empty. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation and the look on his face would no doubt invite unwanted questions. He drove home and grabbed an overnight bag, plus shirts and a spare suit, the dark blue one he usually kept for crown court appearances. A quick check around the property and he was gone. He couldn’t fail to notice that Lesley had obviously been back and taken some clothes too.

  Forty minutes later, he was in a central Manchester hotel room having ordered some food from room service. He wasn’t really hungry but knew he had to eat. He was more interested in the bottles of vodka and diet cola he’d picked up from the local Spar shop on his way.

  The first two drinks didn’t touch the sides and he considered getting pissed, but realised he would still have to have his wits
about him when he saw Harry in the morning. A knock at the door was followed by someone shouting, “Room service.”

  The distraction of nibbling his sandwich and chips kept him from a third vodka while he chewed over his situation along with his food. How had he allowed himself to act so rashly? And more worrying was the fact that he had intended to shoot Moxley. God knows the man deserved it, but Vinnie’s job was to uphold the law and catch those who didn’t; not to join them. He was relieved he’d missed; gunshot wounds to the back would have been a bit tricky to explain. Sometimes he thought the UK had it right compared to other western countries, particularly the US, and at other times he thought the reverse. If he was in the States now, he was sure he wouldn’t be sat in a hotel room fearing God knows what lay ahead.

  After he’d finished eating he was hit by a mixture of emotional fatigue, food and drink; all of which conspired against him as he felt his eyes dropping. He decided to get some sleep before his conscious mind took over again.

  Perversely he awoke having had the best night’s sleep in quite a while. He wasn’t sure why, but was glad of it. By 7.45 am he was in Harry’s office with two nuclear heated cups of coffee on the desk. He jumped as Harry walked in and closed the door behind him. Taking his seat behind his desk he thanked Vinnie for the brew and took a tentative sip. Vinnie thought he looked a lot calmer than when he’d last seen him and hoped this boded well for whatever was about to happen next.

  “I’ve spoken to one of the senior crown prosecutors,” Harry started.

  Vinnie cringed inwardly on hearing this and started to expect the worse.

  Continuing, Harry said, “and mentioning no names at this stage, I’ve run the circumstances past them for some early advice.”

  “Thanks for not naming me at this stage, Harry.”

  “Don’t. I did it for their benefit. I wanted totally unbiased counsel; most of them know you.”