by Sibel Hodge
I twisted over on one ankle. Sucked in a breath. Righted myself. Kept on going.
Eventually I came to the fence separating the stables from the Jamesons’ farm. I repeated the weird backwards manoeuvre to climb over and ran to my car. Luckily, Balaclava Guy had forgotten to take my car fob, and I had a seatbelt cutter inside, designed to be used in an emergency if you were involved in an accident and couldn’t release it manually. Never did I think it would be put to use for this kind of scenario.
I leaned against the car bonnet for a minute, overcome with giddiness. I bent over, my heartbeat so erratic I felt dizzy. A stitch had formed in my side but I tried to block out the stabbing pain and the throbbing in my ankle. When I’d caught my breath again I stood up and slid my hands across my back to my right-hand jacket pocket. I reached in and pulled out the remote-control fob.
My hands were so slippery with sweat that as I fumbled with it to press the button and release the central locking, it fell to the ground.
‘No! No no no! Shit.’
I closed my eyes for a moment and tilted my head to the sky, allowing myself only a moment’s self-pity before doing what had to be done.
I dropped to my knees on the ground in front of the fob. Scrabbled around with my fingertips behind me. Touched it.
Then it was in my hand and I pressed the unlock button.
I’m not afraid to admit that there was a tear of relief in my eyes. Or maybe it was just sweat.
I shuffled on my knees towards the driver’s door, a stone digging painfully into my shin, then turned with my back towards it. I steadied myself against the car and slid upwards into a crouch so I could grab the door handle with one hand.
I popped it open and crouch-shuffled forwards, opening the door. Then I positioned myself so I could reach into the driver’s side door pocket.
My fingers touched a CD case, a map, an empty crisp packet, and finally – finally! – the seatbelt cutter.
It was shaped like a miniature hammer with a groove down the handle that housed a very sharp blade.
I clutched the hammer end and tried to slide the plasticuffs into the groove. Missed. Tried again. The cuffs just slid along the smooth plastic and didn’t catch.
I tried again.
Yes!
The plasticuffs slotted into the groove and I rubbed against the blade vigorously. It only took a few seconds before the cuffs were off and had fallen to the floor.
I wiped away the sweat on my forehead with the back of my hand. My throat craved water but there was no time to search for something to quench my thirst. More important things to do. The Jamesons’ landline phone was out of battery, I didn’t want to risk trying Emily Simms’s house for a phone in case Roger had cut off the utilities after Emily’d moved out, so the nearest phone was at Bill Graves’s house. I’d just have to smash a window and break in, but it would be quicker to drive there than run across the acres of fields.
I circled my arms around, getting back the circulation into my shoulders. The pain had subsided now but something was definitely clicking in my right joint. Then I got in the car and started the engine before roaring up the Jamesons’ driveway towards the lane.
I was just pulling out when a sudden flash of headlights was upon me and a car blared its horn to warn me of its approach.
I stamped on my brakes and a BMW whizzed past; instinct made me turn my head and clock the number plate, even though it was going too fast for me to see who was driving.
It was a car I’d seen outside the police station car park. A car that belonged to whoever had been giving Greene a lift that day.
What the hell was it doing here? In the middle of nowhere?
It couldn’t be coincidence.
Then everything clicked into place. Detective Superintendent Greene had repeatedly tried to ram down everyone’s throat that the Jamesons’ murder was a burglary gone wrong, despite no evidence to support that. He’d restricted the collection of forensic evidence, blaming it on budget cuts. He’d had us all running around on a wild goose chase, searching for impossible sightings of an unknown vehicle we were never going to find. Tied us up doing pointless house-to-house enquiries. Searching for a suspect who we’d never locate because she was already dead, if what Balaclava Man said was right, and how would he have known about her tattoo if he hadn’t seen the footage he’d described?
Had Greene been got at? Pressured from above? It wouldn’t be the first time. I thought of Lord Mackenzie’s massive insurance fraud again. Greene had said the order to quash the inquiry had come from above, but what if it had all been Greene’s doing?
Red, boiling anger rose. I’d thought Greene was just a useless copper, rusty from years in an office, blinded by bureaucracy, succumbing to pressure from the top to toe the line because he wanted to keep his cushy job and his nice, fat pension, but what if it was more than that? Was Greene corrupt? Or at least malleable by the corrupt?
The BMW driver I’d just seen must be involved in this red room. The live streaming of a snuff film was about to start soon. Where else would he be going?
I had a responsibility to uphold the law, but if I called in a firearms team there would be protocols and risk assessments that would take time. A hostage negotiator would probably be called out from God knows where. It was also possible there would be delays due to Greene stalling them so this man and the Parker gang could get away with everything. Other higher-ups in the brass could be involved for all I knew.
I also thought about Jeremy Wellham, the latest criminal to get away with his crimes. Thought about justice being eroded over the years. Yes, I was old school, but maybe that was the whole point. Before political correctness, paper-pushing, number-crunching and corruption got involved in the mix, the law was about protecting people and putting criminals away. And that vigilante with the gun was doing what the law couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do any longer. He was protecting his goddaughter, a victim of a kidnapping. A victim who was about to be brutally murdered like the Jamesons and Tracy Stevens. Knowing what I knew now, if my goddaughter was in there, I’d do the same.
The bottom line was a young girl was being held against her will, about to be killed. I couldn’t just play by the rules now and let her die. By the time I called for reinforcements, it could be too late. And Greene and the BMW driver had already proved the rules didn’t apply to them.
I knew then I was about to cross the line from good cop to vigilante.
THE VIGILANTE
Chapter 49
The outbuilding was filled with vehicles, pallets and junk. An old, rusty scrambler motorbike, a collection of dusty fire extinguishers, a chainsaw and baseball bat, metal toolboxes, an old armchair, tins of paint, vats of fertiliser, a JCB digger. The stench of musty dampness, engine oil, and something far more abhorrent hit me.
At the far wall were steps leading down under the ground. Light seeped upwards, partially illuminating the space.
I stealthily moved towards the steps, eyes scanning the shadows of junk, the Baikal outstretched in my hand.
Silently, I descended the stairs into a basement. There were two doors, both closed, but I could tell which one Toni was being held captive behind. Her desperate screams gave her away. I knew the layout of the red room from the video so I wasn’t going in completely blind.
I kicked open the door and registered two things in quick succession.
One: Toni strapped to a table, eyes squeezed shut, whimpering now.
Two: Brett Parker leaning over her, touching her breasts.
Brett jerked upwards, away from Toni, but by the time his eyes could process the threat, he was wearing another one straight through the centre of his forehead.
His body went slack as the bullet lodged in his brain, killing him outright. Dead even before his knees collapsed and he fell to the floor.
Toni screamed.
‘I need you to be quiet,’ I said. ‘I’m going to get you out of here.’
I turned and kicked the state-of-the-art
video camera and tripod over, sending it smashing to the floor. Pulled out wires from the wall to stop any transmission. Registered the countdown timer on the wall still had six minutes to go. Prayed that no one in the farmhouse was monitoring a live feed yet which would compromise me.
I rolled my balaclava up so Toni could see my face.
Her eyes widened, mouth gaping open.
‘I’m Mitchell, a friend of your dad’s. I’m going to get you back home safely.’
She nodded blankly, clearly in shock. Then said, ‘I know who you are. I’ve seen photos.’
I released the leather restraints one by one. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Uh . . . I . . . mostly.’ She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the table. She rubbed at her wrists with shaking fingers.
‘Can you stand?’
‘Yes.’
I took her hand. She stumbled off the table on wobbly legs and I led her up the corridor.
When we reached the top of the steps, I poked my head up and back down again. A split-second recce of the junk area.
No one was there. I heard no sounds from outside.
‘It’s clear. Stay behind me, OK?’ I trained the Baikal on the wooden doors as we moved towards them.
I pushed the left one open an inch. From here I had a diagonal view to the kitchen door of the farmhouse. No one was rushing out to greet us.
I pushed the door open further.
And that’s when it all started to go wrong.
THE DETECTIVE
Chapter 50
I gunned the engine and followed the BMW. I was a couple of minutes behind him, and by the time I’d driven down the lane to Connor Parker’s house, his tail lights were disappearing through the electric gates.
I pulled to a stop along the verge, turned off the engine and ran towards the entrance, praying no one would see me.
The electric gates were closing now. There was a gap of about one metre.
Half a metre.
I ran faster and slipped inside just as the BMW pulled to a stop further up the driveway that ran along the side of the house and led to the concrete outbuilding.
I pressed myself against the wall. There was no security lighting there and I was hidden in shadows.
Connor Parker emerged from the front door of the house and strode up the drive to the BMW.
The driver got out of the car but he had his back to me and I couldn’t see his face.
‘You’re cutting it a bit fine. We’re almost ready to start,’ Connor said, shaking the driver’s hand.
I watched the intricate hand movement and gritted my teeth. I’d seen it before, many times in my career. A lot of coppers were Freemasons. The secret society that also included royalty, judges, top military brass and religious leaders. The powerful and influential. Was Greene a member of their lodge, too? Is this what his involvement was about? Protecting a fellow mason? Or was there more to it?
‘What took you so long?’ Connor snapped.
‘Less of your cheek, sonny.’ The driver got closer to Connor and poked his forefinger in his chest. ‘Don’t forget it’s me who keeps you and our enterprise protected.’
I still couldn’t see the BMW driver’s face, he had his back to me, but I’d heard that voice before. It was distinctive. I knew who he was. And his presence here confirmed to me that my suspicions about Greene were correct, and this wasn’t the first time Greene had well and truly crossed the thin blue line to protect someone.
Connor looked at his watch. ‘You’ve got two minutes to get in there and suited up before the stream starts.’
‘Well, stop wasting my time chatting, then! I’m ready to torture this bitch.’
They walked towards the outbuilding doors dead ahead of them.
I crouch-ran towards the corner of the house and pressed myself against it, watching.
The outbuilding door opened and I glimpsed Balaclava Man inside, the stricken face of a young girl behind him.
Connor stopped. ‘What the fuck?’
The BMW driver froze.
Connor reached to the small of his back and pulled out a handgun which had been tucked down the waistband of his jeans.
Balaclava Man fired at Connor.
Connor darted out of the way and fired back.
The wooden door slammed shut.
The BMW driver shouted, ‘What the hell’s going on here?’
‘We’ve got company, Jimmy! Get out here,’ Connor yelled towards the farmhouse. And then he fired repeatedly at the door.
THE VIGILANTE
Chapter 51
I pulled the door closed and slid the interior bolt across. I’d wanted to get in and out quickly, unseen, but the last thing I’d expected was a vehicle pulling up outside.
‘We’re going to die, aren’t we?’ Toni whispered, her voice shuddering through the air in the semi-darkness.
I couldn’t risk Toni being shot and killed in the crossfire. I’d made a promise to Corinne I’d bring her home safely, and that’s what I’d do. I pressed the Baikal into her hand. ‘Here. Take this. Go back down the stairs out of sight. Hold the gun as firmly as possible in both hands. If anyone comes, aim for the middle of their chest and keep squeezing the trigger.’
Her whole body trembled in front of me as her eyes pleaded with mine. You have to get me out of here.
More shots fired at the doors, splintering the wood. I dragged her backwards, further into the room and pushed her towards the steps. ‘Go!’
She stumbled back down into the basement as panic took hold of me.
I can’t fail. I have to get her out of here. But we’re fucking trapped now. I need to clear the area. Clear it!
The image of me shouting ‘Clear!’ to Tony in West Africa rammed into my skull again. No way would I let that happen a second time. I wouldn’t let another innocent person be killed because of a mistake I made. This time I had to make sure they were all dead before I brought Toni out alive.
I drew my Glock from its holster and scanned the room, my gaze hitting the JCB digger. I’d driven one before, a long time ago, but it looked old, rusted. I had no idea how long it had been in here or if it would even start.
I jumped up into the cab and saw the keys in the ignition. I turned them and it made a tiny click but the engine didn’t fire.
‘Come on!’ I turned the keys again.
Click.
More shots fired at the doors.
I twisted the keys and the diesel engine sputtered and sprang to life.
The JCB was parked too close to the doors to get a decent momentum going. I turned off the handbrake, pushed down a lever arm attached to the steering wheel to reverse and depressed the foot pedal.
The machine moved backwards, pushing the motorbike out of the way and on to its side with a scrape of metal against the concrete floor, crushing some rotting pallets against the rear wall.
When I’d retreated as far as I could go, I pulled on the joystick to raise the digger bucket up so it was in front of the glass cab, protecting me from Connor who’d been shooting from the driveway.
I pulled up the lever arm to move forwards. Gave it some throttle.
The wooden doors creaked and splintered outwards as I emerged from the outbuilding.
A shot hit the bucket. Closely followed by another.
I moved the beast forward in a straight line, heading for Connor’s last position on the driveway.
More shots started from my diagonal right. Jimmy Delaney stood outside the kitchen door with a handgun, firing repeatedly into the side of the cab.
I fired back. Missed.
A shot fired from Connor.
Delaney shot at me again.
And hit me.
THE DETECTIVE
Chapter 52
I edged my way along the perimeter brick wall in the opposite direction to the driveway. I needed a weapon and the only chance of finding one out here unseen would be in the barn at the rear.
Shots fired out. A noisy engine started f
rom somewhere behind the house that I couldn’t see from my current position.
I jogged up the side of the farmhouse and the barn came into view.
When I came to the back corner, I poked my head round it. I could no longer see Connor or the BMW driver from this angle, but I saw another guy standing in front of the kitchen door, his back to me, a handgun angled towards the outbuilding doors, firing rapidly.
I ran into the open-ended barn and frantically looked around for something to use.
Steel barrel drums, the white van they must’ve used to kidnap Tracy, old agricultural equipment, dirty and neglected.
Next to a pile of chopped logs was an axe embedded in a chopping block.
I yanked it out and gripped it tight.
I moved to the entrance of the barn. The guy by the kitchen door still had his back to me.
There was an almighty crunching sound as a JCB exploded through the outbuilding doors.
The guy in my sight fired into the side of the JCB’s cab.
I couldn’t see Connor from here, but a gun fired from the direction of where I’d seen him on the driveway. The bullets bounced off the metal bucket raised in front of the cab.
Balaclava Man fired back at my guy.
I sneaked towards him, but I couldn’t get too close because I’d get caught in the crossfire. My best bet would be to run back down the side of the house, enter through the front door and then come out of the kitchen door behind him and surprise him.
Just as I was running to the corner wall of the house, my guy fired again and hit Balaclava Man.
Balaclava Man slumped slightly and his head disappeared from view.
Change of plan. I sneaked up behind my guy, the sound of the JCB’s engine masking my footsteps on the grass.
I swung the axe backwards and brought it down in an arc on top of his head.
He dropped to his knees, then fell face forward on to the ground.
I looked up at the JCB still continuing forwards. Locked eyes with Balaclava Man who’d sat up again.
Then I heard a loud scream.
THE VIGILANTE