Nemesis

by Roger A Price

  Vinnie felt himself shrink a little as Harry continued.

  “As you might expect, they have placed the usual caveat on their guidance. This means they reserve the right to change their minds on seeing any actual evidence placed before them further down the line.”

  Vinnie nodded, he would have expected as much.

  “One of the big tests they would apply in such a case comes down to the offender’s character.”

  Vinnie cringed again on hearing himself referred to as an offender.

  “So, jokes apart, as I’m not in the mood, this is a major plus for you. We are not dealing with some known criminal in the middle of a drug feud trying to convince us of his intentions.”

  “Does that mean you – and the CPS – accept I was only firing warning shots?”

  “They accept that I do, Vinnie. I’ll put it no stronger than that. Don’t forget that any internal investigation will be done by others who don’t know you and will be acting impartially. They may even bring in professional standards from a neighbouring force.”

  Vinnie nodded again.

  “But the thorny issue surrounds the fact that you know about the telephone interception on Moxley’s phone and the CPS are of the opinion that its existence – or admission of its being – would be crucial to you not being allowed a fair trial. They are of the opinion that any trial judge would rule as such, but as it is actually illegal to allude to the existence of telephone interceptions in cases openly, the judge would have no option but to order an acquittal.”

  “Meaning what exactly?”

  “To use their words, ‘there is no point in commencing proceedings that are doomed to fail due to issues outside our control’. But to use my words: you are one jammy bastard as there can be no prospect of criminal charges against you, for either discharging the gun, or even attempted murder, if your version was not believed.”

  Vinnie exhaled loudly and rocked his head backwards until his neck cracked.

  “You have no doubt been up all night worrying about this and, to be fair, it’s the least you deserve.”

  Vinnie agreed with Harry, he dared not say otherwise.

  “But before you get too excited, there will still have to be an internal investigation and you could still lose your job.”

  “I realise that Harry but, hopefully, if I continue to fully cooperate with any inquiry, together with mitigation and previous good conduct, I might keep my job.”

  The relief was coursing through him now. He also realised as this was no longer a criminal matter, Harry wouldn’t have to suspend him. He might not get his gun back any time soon, but that didn’t matter. He wouldn’t need a gun when he eventually did get his hands on the man who had caused him so much trouble.

  “What mitigation?” Harry asked.

  “Catching Moxley. I’ll work 24/7 until I do.”

  “Sorry, Vinnie. That’s the bad news bit. The chief is adamant that he wants you suspended during the ensuing internal investigation. If only to keep you away from the Moxley inquiry, so you can’t taint it further.”

  For the next few minutes, Vinnie stared at Harry; he had again been impetuous in his presumptions. Harry gave him a few moments alone and was clearly having difficulty himself with what he had to do. When he returned, he read a list of dos and don’ts to Vinnie and gave him a copy of the list. He didn’t hear them clearly other than the one about being barred from entering police stations uninvited. He’d never been in this situation and the whole experience felt incriminating and humiliating.

  Harry took his warrant card and badge and said he’d have to escort him from the building, but wouldn’t make it obvious. At least he’d be spared that indignity. Time seemed to slow and the chatter and clatter from the incident room sounded somehow louder than it should.

  He followed Harry, who surprised him by talking the stairs, though he was glad. He didn’t fancy the confines of the lift which normally would not bother him. But he knew it would today.

  When they reached the foyer, Vinnie expected Harry to hold the main door open and watch him go, but he didn’t. He did open the door but turned to face Vinnie and whispered.

  “Follow me.”

  Vinnie did, and Harry walked around to the side of the nick before stopping by a brick wall with no windows in it. The side of the custody suite, Vinnie realised. As Vinnie stopped, Harry spoke.

  “This is unofficial, and off the record.” He handed Vinnie a mobile phone, an old one.

  “This has a new pay-as-you-go SIM card in it with only one number preprogramed, mine.”

  “Why?”

  “In case I need to pick your brain. You know this case better than anyone. But you’ve got to promise me that you will not ring me and you will only use it to receive calls from me. Any cold calls, ignore them. Got it?”

  “Got it,” said Vinnie, though he wasn’t sure that he had. “But I thought the chief …”

  “Bollocks to the chief, but you’ve got to promise me, Vinnie. This is my career now.”

  “Hundred per cent, Harry. It’ll be nice to be kept in touch, rather than awaiting the slow grind of inactivity from professional standards.”

  “But, remember, you don’t ring me on it. You’ll be given the contact details of the officer leading the investigation into you, and he’ll be your single point of contact for appropriate things, but not by this phone.”

  Vinnie shook his boss’s hand and thanked him and apologised at the same time. He slipped the phone into his pocket as he turned to walk away. He heard Harry’s voice again.

  “One last thing, Vinnie.”

  “Harry?”

  “Get yourself a good brief.”

  Chapter Forty-five

  Johnson didn’t know how long he’d been out or exactly how. He slowly became aware of himself and his environment as his senses began reporting to his brain. He was cold and wet, and stuck on his side on a ledge, held in place by a rusty gate sticking out of the sewer wall. He spat the rancid water from his mouth as he felt a deep throbbing on his right temple. He must have banged his head in the fall.

  He could see that he was in a straight section of tunnel, but had no idea how far he was from that horror chamber he’d fled from. He gently touched the side of his head and reawakened the shattered nerves in his damaged right wrist. Glancing at it he could see that it was clear of blood though the flesh was sore and exposed. But at least he was alive. He could have drowned, and probably should have, but for the remains of some sort of gate. The ledge he was half on was below the water’s current level, which was probably why he’d been saved. He sat up on it, still leaning on the gate with his shoulder as his wooziness eased.

  There was little light down here and he realised he was in a subterranean world all of its own. A network of sluices and tunnels serving the city’s ignorant populous who passed above in their millions, totally unaware of what took place below. He suddenly panicked. What if he’d only been out of it for a few moments? What if Moxley was coming after him?

  He allowed himself a second or two as he turned his head to listen, but all he could hear was the water. He’d have to keep going, and as quickly as he could. He carefully pulled himself around what remained of the gate and back into the torrent. He couldn’t feel the bottom so tried to swim with the flow, which aided his speed.

  The tunnel remained straight for quite a while before bending to the left, and then its downhill gradient seemed to increase. The water and he were moving faster now and occasionally the ledges at the side kept coming into view. He turned right and the tunnel seemed to level up as the water’s pace eased. It also seemed to drop away as the ledges on both sides came into, and remained in view. The level of daylight increased. This lifted his mood until he glimpsed several groups of rats scampering along the makeshift pavements in both directions.

  A final turn and the daylight flooded in. Ahead, Johnson could see a metal mesh structure spanning the width of the tunnel with a gaping square opening at its centre, then fres
h air. He heard the sound of water falling from the cavernous chasm to the ground below. How far below he had no idea, but as the water level had dropped and stabilised, his feet found the floor. He was able to slow himself, save for occasionally losing his balance as he stood upright, and he had to reach to the ledges at the sides to steady himself. The second time he did this he felt a firm furry lump instead of hard stone, followed by a painful bite into his left hand. The recoil steadied him.

  At the opening, he grabbed the mesh and halted his progress. Stretching himself as he stood fully erect, he caught his breath for a second before glancing outwards. It appeared as if the drain exited halfway up a hillside and was pouring its contents into a river below. He held the mesh firm before leaning out through its open centre. His spirits soared as he saw the drop was only about thirty feet, and the hillside had a metal ladder fastened to it, obviously to allow the council maintenance workers a safe access.

  He carefully rounded the mesh and slowly descended the ladder, taking care to use his right elbow to lean on to the rungs as his left hand provided the security. At the bottom was a concrete space of about ten feet square into which the foot of the ladder was secured. He squinted in the blaze of sunlight as his eyes readjusted. He could see that a concrete path led away from the base along the side of the river, but was quickly obscured from view as it turned to its right and was bordered by unchallenged overgrown hedgerows.

  Once back on solid ground he allowed himself a couple of minutes to recover. Glancing up he could see no sign of any pursuers. He could only assume that Jimmy has also made it clear away, but the bastard hadn’t gone for help as Johnson had feared. No doubt too afraid of implicating himself. When this was all properly over, and Jimmy was back behind bars, he hoped he was a screw on his wing.

  He set off down the path towards its bend, not knowing how far he was from civilisation, but sure that he couldn’t be too far away. He reached the bend and walked around it. The river and its path opened out fully now. The path ran for about a hundred metres, and he could see stiles that led off into what appeared to be a car park.

  He was so relieved he barely noticed the pain from his wrist or from his temple. He heard the distant sound of traffic.

  Then he felt a new pain, a searing pain slicing into the rear of his right thigh. He screamed out as he fell to the ground. On his knees, he impulsively reached around his leg to feel hot liquid pulsing through a rip in his trousers. Then a voice. Right behind him. A voice he recognised and loathed.

  “You didn’t think I’d let you get away that easily, did you?”

  He turned, still holding his hamstring. Moxley stood over him with a kitchen knife in his hand and bracken stuck to his hair.

  “That’ll help you limp, if you see what I mean Stench. Didn’t want to hurt you too much, well not yet anyway.”

  Johnson couldn’t believe his poor luck. All resolve sapped out of him.

  “Now, Stench, first things first; where is the Traitor?”

  Johnson didn’t answer, so Moxley continued.

  “The one who used to be called Jimmy.”

  *

  Back in his hotel room with a large vodka and cola in his hand, Vinnie sat staring at the two phones on the table. Why had Harry really given him the pay-as-you-go? It didn’t make too much sense. Sure, he probably wasn’t supposed to get involved in the investigation into Vinnie’s actions, but he was still his line manager, responsible for his welfare, even though he was suspended. That would be reason enough to keep in touch with him via his normal phone. Vinnie wasn’t sure if there actually was another agenda, or perhaps Harry was putting some insurance in place; thinking ahead. He was good at that.

  Vinnie put the glass down, it was too early. He glanced out the window and considered the irony; it was a sunny Sunday and he was not at work – a rare event – how now he wished it was otherwise. Fatigue hit him as he wondered where Moxley was at that moment. The intense emotional experiences of the last twenty-four hours were mixing with the vodka. A drink before midday always seemed to have greater potency than a drink after noon. Same was true about midnight, he thought, as he shook Moxley from his conscious mind. He’d grab some more kip while he was flagging; it’d help pass some time at the very least.

  As he was settling down back in the bed, his mind wandered to the phone that Harry had given him. Did he want Vinnie to carry on the search for Moxley and the others? If he did, he’d have to be very careful not to be seen. Effectively he wasn’t a cop any more, he had no authority to rely on, or favours to call in – not officially anyhow. It made him feel stripped, naked almost. Branded. The police force was a huge family and it felt disconcerting to be on the outside of it for the first time. Disconnecting even. Then a thought hit him. Regardless of whether Harry had meant any tacit message, he was still a free citizen, in a free democracy.

  The cops might not like him pursuing his own private enquiries, but so long as he didn’t get in their way, they couldn’t stop him.

  He suddenly felt better about things, albeit only slightly, but doing something was way better that doing nothing. He couldn’t pass the time in inertia, it would drive him crazy. That sudden release of some of his anxieties opened the door fully to sleep as his mind went blank.

  Chapter Forty-six

  Moxley couldn’t believe his luck. He hadn’t fancied going down the shaft, especially as he had no idea how long Stench and Traitor had been gone. So he thought he’d try to figure out where the exit was. It had to come out somewhere. He hadn’t even known which direction to head in, just guessed correctly. It was his lucky day.

  “I’ve no idea where he is,” Johnson said.

  “Liar,” said Moxley before he kicked Johnson full in the face and knocking him backwards on to his rear, which resulted in two satisfying cries of pain. One from the kick and the other he guessed from the stab wound. He knew it wouldn’t take long, Stench was weak.

  “Look, Moxley, he’s been gone ages, he left me in there alone.”

  “Liar,” Moxley said, followed by a second boot, knocking Stench flat again.

  “Look, man,” said Stench, as he pushed himself up into a sitting position and raised his right hand towards Moxley, dragging the chain clanking on the path as he did.

  Moxley could see the damage to his wrist, as Stench continued. “I had to torture myself to get free. Does this look like I had any help? Jimmy did one and left me there to die as far he was concerned.”

  He looked a little more closely at Johnson’s wrist and realised how bad it was, which sort of proved his point, though that didn’t absolve the Traitor. He’d still betrayed him. A thought ran through his mind as he realised how much fun he could have with the chain still attached to Stench’s wrist. The pain would be immense.

  He knew it would be difficult to get Johnson back to the room without attracting attention and, although here wasn’t ideal, it would have to do. He still needed to find the Traitor and, although he knew where to start looking, the longer he left it the worse his chances would be. He had to be disciplined. He would limit himself to thirty minutes with Johnson.

  “Okay, I accept you don’t know where the Traitor is,” he said, as he bent down to pick up the end of the chain.

  “I’m no traitor, you sick bastard,” said a voice from behind.

  Moxley couldn’t believe his luck for a second time. He left the chain and Johnson on the floor as he stood up and spoke as he turned to face the Traitor.

  “You’ve just saved me a lot of …Moxley started to say, but stopped and stared.

  “Jimmy, thank God,” he heard Stench say.

  Moxley stared at the revolver being pointed at him.

  “I was coming back for you Johnson,” said Jimmy. “As scared as I was, I couldn’t leave you with this maniac.”

  The words stung. Moxley couldn’t believe what was happening. He opened his mouth, but said nothing as the Traitor continued.

  “Shut it,” he said. “I was just approaching when
I saw Moxley leave. I was going to come straight in and get you but, where would it end? So I decided to follow Moxley first,” the Traitor said to Stench. He asked him how he’d got free and Stench told him, holding up his wrist.

  Moxley was beginning to understand, but still couldn’t get his head around the betrayal. “But I was good to you. You can still be my Jimmy, we can sort this out,” he said. He had to reach far inside himself to find this level of contrition. A depth of kindness he didn’t know he possessed. That should do it though. That should make it right. Perhaps he hadn’t treated Jimmy as well as he should have.

  “Where do you get off? You terrorised and abused me. Brutalised and humiliated me.”

  The words cut even deeper than before. But there was more.

  “I nearly didn’t come back, so scared of you, and then I got this.” The Traitor waved the revolver at him.

  Moxley was taken aback by the Traitor’s show of bravado. But when he saw him wave the gun, he saw something else. The Traitor shook the gun rather than brandish it. He saw the nerves and looked deep into the Traitor’s eyes. He saw that the fear was still there, he still had his power over him.

  “Bold words for a weakling,” Moxley said, noting surprise on the Traitor’s face and starting to regret the remarks of friendship he had just displayed. That was weakness. He shook off his own disdain and carried on. “You shouldn’t have come back, Traitor. The chase would have amused me. But you did, and now you’re pointing an old gun at me in the worst possible act of impertinence.”

  “What are you talking about?” The Traitor sounded far less sure of himself now.

  “You were never good with words, were you? It was your other assets I was interested in, but don’t concern yourself with it; you are damaged goods now as far as I’m concerned.”

  Moxley heard the gun go off as he saw fire spit from its barrel. Surprise and pain hit him at the same time. Then it all went black.

  *

  The gun’s report sounded unbelievably loud and left a ringing in Johnson’s ears. He saw Jimmy’s outstretched arm fly upwards with the recoil. His own sense of shock was mirrored by the expression evident on Moxley’s face. The force of the impact sent him flying backwards over the path’s edge as it curved towards the culvert, launching him back-first into the river. He saw blood and gore spit into the water moments before Moxley joined it.