Nemesis

by Roger A Price

  “Just what I was thinking. Well, a wee and then a brew,” Christine answered.

  Thirty minutes later, refreshed, Vinnie and Christine were leaving the cafeteria when Christine said she would pay another visit before the final leg of the journey. Vinnie said he would wait outside.

  It was fully dark now, but the car park was well lit. There were few cars on it so they’d been able to park right next to the entrance. He saw a car pull up on the outer edge of the car park, which seemed strange given its emptiness. It parked under a sodium vapour light, which actually made it more difficult to see. It was a dark coloured saloon, but he couldn’t see what make. The driver got out but Vinnie could still see shadows inside the vehicle. It was hard to see if there were one or two as the vehicle was facing him and he was looking through its front screen. He watched the driver walk purpose-like across the car park directly towards him. ‘Drug deal?’ he wondered.

  As the man neared, he noticed he was wearing a suit. When he came closer he recognised him. He couldn’t remember his name, but he’d definitely seen him in the incident room. The escort. Vinnie stepped into his path and the officer clearly recognised him.

  “DI Palmer. No one said you were going to be here, sir.”

  Vinnie was about to reply, when a rapid movement near the CID escort vehicle caught his eye. He looked over the shoulders of the officer, who was now stood in front of him. He must have seen his attention as he turned back towards the car.

  Vinnie didn’t speak as he watched a vehicle drive on to the services at a fast pace. It headed towards the car park before braking hard and turning to face the parked CID car. The approaching car was a black Hackney carriage, which seemed strange in these surroundings. It accelerated hard and drove around in an arc so it was facing the passenger side, whereupon it accelerated even harder. Vinnie set off running closely followed by the CID car’s driver. The car was a good hundred plus metres away and Vinnie hadn’t gone far when he saw the front of the black cab smash into the front passenger door, shunting the vehicle forward and then to its side after several metres. The cab driver jumped out. Moxley. Vinnie quickened his pace as he watched Moxley drag Dawson from the car’s rear seat and bundle him into the back of the cab. As Moxley was getting back into the taxi Vinnie was still thirty metres away. They weren’t going to get there in time. The CID car’s driver was level with Vinnie now as he turned and shouted at him, “You carrying?” and a feeling of deja vu washed over him.

  “No, I was driving, but my mate is.”

  Ten metres to go, but all Vinnie could do was watch as the black cab sped past them. It was side on and he was surprised at how little damage there seemed to be at its front. He slowed as the CID car driver past him running to check on his mate.

  Vinnie tried desperately to get a view of the taxi’s number plate, but couldn’t. All he could see were two faces staring at him, one full of a monstrous hate-filled glee and the other a countenance of abject fear. Both visages would remain in his memory for a long time.

  Switching back on, he turned to see Christine run towards him. He shouted for her to get the Volvo as he sped to the ruined CID car’s passenger door. “How is he?”

  “Unconscious, but breathing, I’ll ring for help.”

  “What about his gun?” Vinnie asked.

  “Still in its holster.”

  “You an AFO – Authorised Firearms Officer?”

  “No sir.”

  Vinnie knew he was in enough trouble with guns as it was, but he couldn’t let the detective go to hospital carrying a firearm. “Give it here then,” Vinnie said, as the Volvo screeched to a halt next to him and the front passenger door flew open.

  Chapter Sixty

  All over in less than a minute. It couldn’t have gone better, Moxley thought. He’d been wondering where he would get the opportunity to pounce, and once more he had outwitted the police. He had followed the initial cops, watched the hand over, and tailed them down the motorway. Darkness had helped, of course, but he was just sharper than the others.

  He glanced in the mirror and enjoyed seeing Dawson frantically try to open the doors and windows. He hit the transmit button and spoke, “It’s no good Quasi, I’ve locked everything.” He watched him try to prise open the glass divide between them, and fail. “I told you it’s pointless, now just sit tight. The better you behave now, the easier it’ll be for you later. Well, until I kill you, of course. You do realise that you are going to die,” Moxley said, before switching off the mike and speaker. He could faintly hear his muffled shouts, but did enjoy the look of sheer terror in his eyes.

  Moxley changed into top gear as he accelerated as hard as the diesel engine would allow. His mind turned back to the Traffic Warden. He hadn’t expected to see him quite so soon. He picked up the cab driver’s mobile, which he noticed now had seventeen missed calls registered, and dialled the Traffic Warden’s number from memory, remembering to put 141 first to block his number. It rang once before it was answered and he spoke quickly to get in first. “You keep getting in the way, don’t you?”

  “I’m coming for you Moxley, you may as well pull over now,” the Traffic Warden said.

  “Don’t think so, but I’m glad you are coming, it’ll make it easier for me later when I decide to let you find me.”

  “You really think a lot of yourself, don’t you?” the Traffic Warden said.

  Ignoring this, Moxley added, “But first I have to make Quasi here pay for all his sins; then I’ll be in touch.”

  He cut the connection.

  *

  “Moxley?” Christine asked.

  “Yes,” Vinnie answered.

  “Any clues?”

  “Not easy to hear him above the sound of his engine, which he was obviously hammering, but it’s a black cab for God’s sake so we can’t be far behind him.”

  Christine nodded before facing front again. Vinnie saw how hard she was concentrating as the Volvo’s speedo edged into three figures. He knew the next junction on the M6 was thirty-one at Preston north, about seventeen miles away, so there was nowhere for Moxley to go, unless he bailed out. He put a quick call into Harry who said he’d already had the escort on to him and he was trying to arrange some back-up.

  Vinnie looked at his watch. They had been gone from the services about five minutes now and he reckoned they had only been a minute behind Moxley at the most. Something was wrong. Christine spoke his thoughts.

  “We should be on him by now. He must have taken an access road off the services,” she said.

  Vinnie knew she was probably right and racked his brain to try to recall the brief conversation he’d just had with Moxley, but no clues came to mind.

  “We may as well power on to the next junction and come off there. I know the A6 pretty much runs parallel with the motorway, so if he’s still headed south, there is an outside chance we can intercept him,” he said. Christine nodded again and Vinnie put a quick call into Harry to update him.

  Ten minutes later, Vinnie watched Christine as she braked hard on the exit lane; he was impressed with her driving. She said she was unfamiliar with the area and Vinnie directed her to the large roundabout at Broughton, north of Preston, where the M6 meets the A6. The trouble was that another motorway also started from there so he hoped they’d got there first. Then, again, it was still a punt. Moxley could have gone in any direction once he’d left the motorway.

  The roundabout was large with not a single place to get a good vantage spot, so Christine said she would keep going around and around it while they caught their breaths. Vinnie checked his watch and even though it was approaching midnight, the roundabout was steady with traffic, which didn’t help. After several minutes, Vinnie asked Christine to pull over.

  “Good, I was starting to get dizzy,” she said.

  Vinnie didn’t reply as he tried to think like Moxley, which wasn’t easy. Where would he take Dawson? Harry had said the Scots had sent a patrol to the cottage in Gretna and the flat in Govan – not th
at they’d expect him to go anywhere near them. The sewer? No, it was compromised, he thought. Piper’s address? Also compromised, but worth a try as they were local.

  Ten minutes later they pulled up at the terrace house on New Hall Lane in time to see two uniforms kick the front door in. Five more minutes and a quick conversation with the officers confirmed his doubts. They would have to drive around and scour the area and hope they got very lucky. As he approached the Volvo he noticed Christine was now in the passenger seat, his turn to drive.

  Then an idea hit him. “Where did all Moxley’s troubles begin?” he asked Christine, though he realised she only knew what he’d told her over the last couple of days. He was thinking out loud as much as anything.

  “Here in Preston, I guess,” she answered.

  “Yes,” said Vinnie, still puzzling hard, and out loud. “Where the original offences took place. Where Dawson the SIO was from, or certainly where he ran the investigation from.”

  “Where his bent snout Piper, who gave the false evidence was from,” she added.

  “The place of the original offence,” said Vinnie, as he reached for the sat-nav. He knew from reading up on Moxley at the outset, that he had attacked his original victim in a public park near the city centre, in a monument or similar structure within it. It was as good a place to try as any.

  Chapter Sixty-one

  Moxley was enjoying being a cab driver and it was proving to be great cover. He smiled to himself at the thought of that thick cop screaming down the motorway chasing shadows. Moxley knew exactly where he was taking Quasi, and he knew he’d never be disturbed. That was until another black cab pulled up alongside him at some red traffic lights.

  Moxley, smiled politely, willing the lights to change colour, when he became aware that the other cabbie had wound down his passenger window and was asking if he was lost. Must have seen the Scottish taxi licence plates on the back. He thanked the other cabbie, shouting back through open windows, and realised that Quasi was banging frantically on the side window. He saw the other cabbie had registered this too.

  “All the way from Glasgow,” Moxley started saying in what he knew was a fine Scottish accent. “He’s no paid his fare, so I locked the bugger in, taking him to the po-leese now.”

  “You know the way?” the other cabbie asked.

  “Aye, ne bother, the sat-nav’s taking us there, thanks,” Moxley said.

  “I’ve no fare, so I’ll follow you if you like, it’s not far from here,” the other cabbie offered.

  Damn, Moxley thought, he’d already killed one cabbie tonight, now it looked like he might have to do two. Before he could answer, he saw the cabbie’s attention drawn to an instrument on top of his dash. A call? Thankfully yes, as the other cabbie was quick to explain. Moxley thanked him for his kind offer, but said he’d be all right. “I’ve already warned the po-leese and they have a reception committee waiting for this nutter, but thanks again.”

  The lights changed to green and the other cabbie gave a brief hand wave before turning right and driving off.

  As Moxley went straight ahead, he looked in the mirror and saw the crestfallen look in Quasi’s eyes. His captive sat back on the bench seat, arms again by his side, hunched and inert.

  Moxley hit the transmit button. “You’ll pay for that transgression, too.”

  *

  Five minutes later, Vinnie pulled over by an entrance to the park, which was all in darkness. The street lamps invaded the blackness, but only by twenty or thirty feet. He turned his car lights off as he freewheeled on approach.

  “According to the net,” Christine said, as she turned away from her Smart phone to face Vinnie, before carrying on, “it’s not a big park. It slopes down to the river Ribble and the pavilion or whatever the building is, is in the middle, not too far from here.”

  “You want to wait here?” asked Vinnie.

  “Not a chance,” said Christine.

  “You’re not a cop and, anyway, it could be a red herring.”

  Christine didn’t answer; she was already getting out of the car.

  Vinnie led and Christine stayed close behind as he walked down the tarmac path into the park. He couldn’t see much at first, bar being aware of grassy verges to both sides of the path as his eyes slowly adjusted. The further away from the street lights they went, the better his vision started to become. It wasn’t too dark, or as dark as it could be. He’d always been amazed at how light summer nights could be compared with winter, especially when the stars were also out. The further they walked into the park, the brighter the stars became.

  Christine drew level with Vinnie and asked if he knew exactly what he was looking for. He said not, other than some old Victorian era pavilion, which he guessed would be in white stone.

  A few minutes later the path levelled out. He stood and took in his surroundings as best he could. He heard Christine whisper.

  “Up there, look.”

  Vinnie followed her outstretched arm. Atop a high grassy hill was a single-storey building with several front facing archways, interspaced with pillars. At its centre was a foyer of kinds with an archway like those to either side, but it looked more substantial and had a set of stone steps leading up to it. It was about thirty metres away.

  Vinnie crouched down as he took in the limited view. It was in the shadows but the white stonework made it easier to see. He listened intently as he watched Christine squat down next to him.

  “That must be it,” she said in hushed tones.

  “Must be,” Vinnie answered, similarly quiet. “But I can’t hear or see anything. Let’s take a closer look.”

  Vinnie kept low as he slowly traversed the distance. Christine tucked in behind him. As he neared, his view improved and the shadows emanating from within lessened. He couldn’t help noticing all the graffiti on the arches, which was a shame, he thought.

  The nearer they got, the more sure he was that the building was empty. It was open on three sides with a solid white stone back, which actually improved the ambient light within.

  Five metres away and he whispered from the side of his mouth, “Not looking good.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  A voice boomed from the building’s interior. Vinnie saw two figures emerge from behind one of the pillars. He heard Christine gasp next to him.

  “Some sort of pervo,” a second voice said.

  Vinnie relaxed. The couple, a man and a woman, both probably in their twenties, stood defiantly in front of them, side by side. Vinnie quickly reached in his pocket for his warrant card, before he realised Harry still had it.

  Christine appeared next to Vinnie and the second person, a female, spoke.

  “We were here first.”

  Chapter Sixty-two

  The courting couple didn’t bother to ask to see his warrant card after being told they were looking for an escaped maniac. They quickly legged it while Vinnie and Christine slowly made their way back towards the Volvo.

  “Where next?” Christine asked.

  Vinnie didn’t answer at first; he’d no idea what to say. The only place he was sure to find Moxley was in his head. He’d never become so emotionally and personally involved in any case or individual and still didn’t know why Moxley seemed intent on making it so. As his line of thinking continued, he suddenly shouted, “Lesley.”

  “What?” Christine asked.

  Vinnie quickly explained that if Moxley was so determined to keep ringing and taunting him, perhaps Lesley was still a target. As much as he hated her for what she had done, he still loved her – he knew that would take time to wane – and didn’t want any harm to befall her. Moxley might even consider attacking her as another “favour”, God forbid.

  As they approached the car, Vinnie stopped and rang to update Harry who said he would get a cop to visit Lesley’s mother’s house. Vinnie and Christine might as well head back to Manchester.

  *

  Moxley had made a pit stop at a 24/7 garage to buy a tow rop
e, duct tape and knife with a retractable blade, before arriving at the destination.

  He parked the cab at the end of the dark cul-de-sac, facing a hedge that had a stile set in it. He gagged a terrified Dawson and used a length of the rope to secure his hands behind his back. He used the rest of the rope to tie a lead around Dawson’s neck and led him roughly from the side of the cab. “Walkies Quasi,” he said, as he yanked on the rope.

  Once more Moxley enjoyed seeing the fear of the unknown in Quasi’s eyes as he dragged him over the stile and beyond the hedge. He knew the building wasn’t too far away and hoped nothing had changed. As he approached, he could see that it was much the same. Once inside, he pushed Quasi to the concrete floor in a corner and kicked him hard in the face as he fell. He heard, rather than felt the crack of broken cartilage, but smiled as the damaged sinew in Quasi’s nose exploded blood down the man’s front. “That’s just for starters,” he said.

  Quasi mumbled something Moxley couldn’t make out, so he ripped the tape from his mouth and left it hanging to one side.

  “Look, Moxley, can’t we come to an arrangement? I know I’ve wronged you, but killing me won’t help you escape. It’ll make it worse,” Quasi said.

  “Worse, how could it be worse?”

  “Killing a cop, or ex-cop – they’ll all be after you.”

  “I already have and they already are.”

  Quasi moaned and continued, “I’ve got money.”

  “I’m sure you have, and I intend to spend it, after I’ve killed you.”

  Moxley pulled the cab driver’s phone from his pocket.

  *

  Vinnie’s work phone rang as he jumped into the Volvo’s driving seat and started the engine. He took the call.

  “And to think I used to like you, Traffic Warden. I wanted you to know that you’ll never find me. True, you’ve spoilt some of my fun by getting in the way, but you can’t spoil it now.”

  Vinnie listened as the line went quiet for a second or two. Then he heard screams, awful, wretched screams; full of anguish. Then silence. Then Moxley.