by Sibel Hodge
Chapter 53
The Glock fell from my hand on to the floor of the cab. I ignored the burning pain tearing through my upper arm and leaned down, my hand scrabbling around to find my gun.
I grabbed it. Sat up and heard a loud, agonising scream over the engine noise.
The JCB had metal teeth on the end of the bucket. Designed for excavating and scooping up heavy loads. And impaling Connor Parker through the neck.
By the time I stopped the vehicle and jumped out, his screaming had stopped.
Connor was wedged between the front of the BMW and the JCB and very, very dead.
I ran towards the other bastard who had bolted back down the driveway and was trying to push a button on the side of the electric gates to open them.
He pressed and pressed repeatedly but nothing happened.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. The very security Parker had designed to keep his captives in this compound of death was the same thing that kept this guy from escaping.
I slowed down and closed the gap between us.
He turned around, squirming his back against the brick wall, eyes bugged out with fear. ‘I’ve got nothing to do with this! I’m just an innocent bystander.’ He held his palms up, the standard Don’t shoot me gesture. ‘I . . . I was having car trouble, and I pulled in here to see if they could help.’
I grinned. ‘Don’t waste your breath. You don’t have much left.’
I lifted my Glock, aimed it at his centre mass.
Then I heard a sound from behind. Before I could turn my head, Toni had run around me and stood side-on to the man, the Baikal in her hand, a crazed expression on her tear-streaked face.
‘Please help me!’ the man pleaded with her. ‘Make him see sense. He’s a mad man!’
‘I heard you talking!’ she hissed, her top lip curled. ‘You wanted to torture me!’
‘No . . . no, you’ve got it wrong. You misheard what I—’
He didn’t get to finish the rest of his sentence because Toni aimed the gun at his leg and fired.
She was an excellent shot, too.
It hit him in the side of his right thigh. His knee buckled. He clutched his hands around the bullet wound and looked down at his leg, aghast.
Toni pointed at him again, her lips pressed together in a tight line. Her eyes hardened with fury. She was Tony’s daughter all right.
‘Please . . . don’t!’ the man gasped out between trembling lips.
‘Toni, no,’ I said. ‘It’s under control.’
She looked at me but didn’t alter her stance. ‘Why should I stop? I want him to suffer. What do you think he was going to do to me? We have to stop him doing it again.’
‘Not like this,’ I said.
She looked at him, bit her lip. Then finally lowered her gun arm so it was down by her thigh.
She needed this. She needed revenge. I got that. Torturing him was one thing. He deserved it. It was karma in a way. But I had no idea how far she planned on going, and even though we were in a rural location, someone could’ve already heard the shots and called the police. We needed to get out of there. And killing a person wasn’t as easy as the movies made it out to be. Killing a person could haunt you. It would change you irreparably. I hoped, eventually, Toni would get over the horrific experience she’d been through so far, but I didn’t want her to wake up in cold sweats in the middle of the night from a nightmare. Didn’t want her suffering flashbacks and post-traumatic stress. Didn’t want her to become me.
She stepped closer to the man and lifted her gun hand again, pointing it at him. ‘You kidnapped me. You kidnapped all those people! And you murdered and tortured them in terrible ways.’ Tears streamed down her cheeks but her voice was hard and unwavering.
‘Toni, no,’ I said, more forcefully. ‘You don’t want a death on your conscience. Believe me, I know.’
‘He deserves to feel some of the pain his victims did.’ She shot him again, this time in his right arm. If the circumstances of Toni being here weren’t so tragic, it would’ve been comical because he didn’t know which wound to clutch.
‘Stop!’ I placed a hand on her shoulder.
Toni snapped her gaze to me, then back to the man. She adjusted her weight, first one foot then the other. Gripped the Baikal tight in both hands, aim steady.
‘It’s not just me here,’ I said, jerking my head backwards to where I could hear DS Carter’s heavy footsteps coming up behind us. ‘There’s a witness. A copper. You don’t want to do this. I can’t let your life be ruined.’
I watched her thinking, fighting against my words in her brain. ‘It’s already ruined,’ she said.
Then I pulled the trigger and shot the guy straight through the heart.
When the worst happened, I’d take the fall for her.
THE DETECTIVE
Chapter 54
I froze in place, apart from my chest heaving up and down and my heart clanging erratically beneath my ribs, and stared at the vigilante and the girl and Lord Mackenzie, the driver of the BMW. The man with friends in high places who’d got away with millions of pounds in his classic car scam. The man Greene had protected then and protected still.
I’d just killed a man with an axe. Watched his head splinter like a pumpkin. Felt the crack of metal slice open bone. Part of me was horrified. Part of me felt numb. But the bigger part of me knew it was justified.
I couldn’t stop the girl shooting Mackenzie even if I’d wanted to. They both had guns and I had an axe. But I didn’t want to. He deserved it. They all deserved it. For what they’d done to the girl. To the Jamesons to keep them quiet. To Tracy Stevens and the others I knew I’d find evidence about in the days that would follow. Maybe I was in shock, but I felt a sudden clarity for the first time in a long time. A picture of Jeremy Wellham’s ex-girlfriend, Mandy, swam into my head. All those hours I’d spent with her in the interview room while she bravely recounted her brutal rape at his hands, even though she wanted to never relive it, never retell it. Her life ruined. Smashed to smithereens. The intrusive forensic examination that violated her all over again. The relentless questions asked of her.
I wouldn’t put this girl through the same thing – a long investigation, countless interviews, a lengthy, stressful court case where their lawyers exploited the system. Courts weren’t even interested in the truth. It all came down to who told the better story. If Mackenzie was allowed to live, no doubt he’d use his influence and connections to get away with his part in this horrific crime, too, just like he’d done before. I had no idea how deep the seed of corruption went. Did it go higher than Greene? With the kind of connections the Freemasons had, I doubted it would even get to court. Justice would never be served. The only way to end this thing and stop any other innocent people being murdered was if there was no one left to talk about it. With Mackenzie still alive, it was even likely he’d get someone to kill the girl. As a witness against someone who was so powerful they would want her silenced, and the vigilante couldn’t be with her all the time. Or Mackenzie could do it all over again, with a new set of accomplices.
‘It’s not just me here,’ Balaclava Man said to the girl. ‘There’s a witness. A copper. You don’t want to do this. I can’t let your life be ruined.’
‘It’s already ruined,’ she whispered.
I closed my eyes, fighting the exhaustion and the emotion that pricked behind my lids.
Then a shot rang out that made me jump, but I didn’t see a thing. I didn’t really want to. Just knew that it had to be.
When I opened my eyes again Balaclava Man was bending over Mackenzie, rifling through his pocket.
‘His name’s Lord Mackenzie,’ I said wearily. ‘I think he was being protected by my boss. Maybe other top brass, too.’
The vigilante nodded as he pulled out Mackenzie’s wallet and flipped through it, a tight frown on his face as he studied the contents. His balaclava had been removed now but I didn’t want to look into his face. Didn’t really want to remember who
he was, even though I knew I’d never forget.
I looked at the girl. Blood was smeared over her face, her cheeks streaked with dirt and tears. There was a haunted look in her eyes that would probably never go away now. ‘Are you OK?’ I asked her, which was a stupid question, but my mind was wobbling all over the place. My hands trembled. I was definitely in shock.
She glanced at Balaclava Man. Back to me. He returned Mackenzie’s wallet to his pocket then wrapped an arm around her shoulder, hugging her tight towards him.
She rested her head against him. ‘Maybe I will be.’ She paused then said to me, ‘Thank you. For helping get me out of there.’ She looked up at Balaclava Man. ‘Both of you. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be dead now.’
Then I laughed. Tension releasing. A pressure cooker of adrenaline exploding, dissipating. ‘How the hell am I going to explain this crime scene?’ I scrubbed my hands over my face. My prints would be on the axe that killed a man. No. Killed a murdering, torturing bastard. His DNA would be on my clothes, which would transfer to my car from the blood and brain matter that sprayed on me. My own DNA and fibres could potentially be all over the place.
‘You don’t have to explain it.’ Balaclava Man dumped his backpack on the floor and crouched down in front of it, pulling things out – an all-in-one camouflage jumpsuit, an industrial bin liner, some plastic shoe covers, latex gloves. He handed them to me. ‘Change of clothes so you don’t transfer evidence to your vehicle. Put the axe in the bag and dispose of it. Then go home and wait for someone to report it.’
I looked at the girl. ‘Your fingerprints will be in there.’ Then looked at him and jerked my head towards the JCB. ‘And your blood from the gunshot.’ Blood seeped through his clothes now, glistening silky wet.
‘Don’t you worry about that,’ he said. ‘We’ll clean up before we leave, but we all need to work quickly. Someone could’ve reported the shots.’
‘The nearest village is six miles away. The only neighbour is out all night. Even if someone did call it in, the control room would most likely think he was rabbit-shooting again.’
But we all hurried, just in case. I took the items, not asking him how he was going to clean up. Then stripped down to my boxers, dumping my blood- and brain-matter-soaked clothing inside the bin liner. I pulled on the suit and gloves and picked up the axe to deposit it in the liner as well.
When I finally opened the gates and got in my car, I felt as if I’d aged thirty years. I wasn’t just exhausted. I was weary right down to my soul.
THE VIGILANTE
Chapter 55
After it was done, I led Toni back through the woods and retraced the route which took us back to my cached pick-up truck in the laying-up point.
As I helped her into the vehicle, she stared at my arm. ‘It looks bad. Is there a bullet still inside?’
I lifted my shoulder and inspected the ripped material of my sniper suit. ‘No, it just grazed me. I’ve had worse injuries.’
Her eyes watered but she blinked the tears back, pressed her trembling lips together and nodded.
I looked into her eyes. Tony’s eyes. ‘You’re OK now. You’re safe.’ I shrugged off my daysack and handed it to her as I got in. ‘My mobile phone’s in the side pocket. Wait ten minutes from leaving this location until you turn it on and call Corinne.’ I shut her passenger door and climbed in behind the wheel.
‘Safe,’ she repeated, pulling the mobile phone out and clutching it in her hand. Then she turned her head to look out of the window into the darkness.
‘There’s water and food in a bag on the rear seat.’ I started the engine and drove away.
‘I’m not hungry. I just want to go home.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll be there soon.’
When we hit the A1M Toni dialled the number.
‘Mum!’ she cried. ‘Oh my God, I didn’t think I’d hear your voice again. I’m safe, Mum. I’m coming home!’
Corinne’s cry of relief was loud enough for me to hear in the space between us.
I pressed down on the accelerator and allowed myself a smile. The battle was over.
THE DETECTIVE
Chapter 56
On the afternoon after the girl was rescued, I received an email to my private Gmail address. It came from an account made up of numbers and contained a link to a website. A website I couldn’t access on Google. There was a brief message, telling me the site was on the dark web. But I couldn’t access it. Not then. If my laptop was ever seized they’d want to know how I knew about it before the police had ever received a phone call about the massacre at Parker Farm. There were also screenshots of the website attached. Images that made my blood boil and my heart sink.
At the end of the email was one sentence that read: I’m sorry I didn’t thank you. If you ever need anything, call this number . . .
Balaclava Man knew who I was, but I didn’t know who he was. I’d seen his face at the end, but I had no intention of looking for him.
It took two days until the phone call came. Two days of lying to Becky and Ronnie. Two days of going through the motions, carrying out house-to-house enquiries in the villages surrounding Turpinfield, looking for Tracy Stevens, a woman I knew was already dead. Two days of trying to be civil to Greene when all I wanted to do was throw him up against a wall and pummel him. My acting skills were put to the ultimate test.
In my spare time, I’d been busy searching for proof of the connection between Lord Mackenzie and Detective Superintendent Greene and anyone else. I’d been going over the old case files from when Lord Mackenzie had staged the burglary and theft of his classic car collection, searching through his financial and phone records gathered at the time for something I might’ve missed before, but I found nothing. There was no way I could put in a request to investigate Greene’s bank accounts or phone records. Not without a warrant authorised by someone higher up. And I had no proof yet to justify such a move.
I’d finally made a decision about my future but I had to wait to put it into action. I needed to be the detective on scene at Parker Farm as part of the investigation into what happened that night in case I’d missed any of my DNA. Then I’d have a legitimate reason for cross-contamination of any evidence left behind.
It was 10.16 a.m., and I was trudging back down the driveway of another house I’d just visited, asking if they’d seen Tracy, when the control room got hold of me.
‘We’ve had a report from a postman delivering letters to Parker Farm who noticed a strange smell coming from somewhere behind the wall,’ the operator told me. ‘We despatched a unit and they’ve confirmed it seems suspicious, but they wanted to let you know before they forced an entry. Given the recent murder at Beech Lodge, they thought it might be connected.’
‘Really?’ I said, faking surprise. ‘Thanks. I’ll make my way over now. ETA ten minutes. Tell uniform not to do anything until I get there.’
‘Received.’
I clenched my jaw as I got in the car. Inhaled deeply. Exhaled. Clutched the steering wheel.
You can do this.
When I arrived at Parker Farm, the same two uniformed officers who’d been first on scene at the Jamesons’ murder were waiting outside for me.
‘Morning, sarge,’ the female said as I got out of the car.
‘Sarge.’ The male nodded at me.
‘Morning.’
‘I hope it’s not another murder,’ the female said. ‘You still haven’t caught Stevens and her accomplice, have you?’
I shook my head.
‘We thought you should be called first. Could be another potential crime scene,’ she said.
‘Can you smell it?’ The male officer scrunched up his face.
I took a step closer to the air and made a show of sniffing. The unmistakable stench of death that I’d come across far too often filled my nostrils. ‘Yes.’ I stared at the heavy metal gates. ‘Have you tried them?’ I asked, even though I already knew they would be locked from the inside.
‘Y
es,’ the male said. ‘They’re electric. Can’t shift them.’
‘OK, let’s get an Enforcer up here. Can you call the control room and get a unit up here with one?’
The male spoke into his radio, asking for the battering ram to be brought up so we could effect an entry.
It took an hour before an officer trained to use the Enforcer was located and made their way to us. Good job it wasn’t an emergency. In that time I called Ronnie and asked him to come to the scene.
As Ronnie pulled up behind my vehicle, the gates were being bashed open.
‘Gosh, that doesn’t smell good,’ Ronnie shouted over the noise, pinching his nostrils closed.
The gates exploded inwards. I stepped over the threshold, instructing the others to stay on the outside. I glanced up the drive. Saw the JCB with Connor Parker still impaled on it against the bonnet of the BMW. I turned my head in the direction of the smell, towards Lord Mackenzie lying against the wall.
‘Call out SOCO and the Home Office pathologist,’ I said over my shoulder to Ronnie, stepping backwards. ‘We’ve got another murder scene.’
By the time I’d retrieved a forensic coverall from the back of my car and was suited and booted, Ronnie was off the phone.
‘I want you to start a scene log,’ I said to him.
Ronnie headed back to his car to collect the paperwork needed to record everyone coming in and going out of the crime scene. When he came back, I looked at my watch, gave him the time and he wrote down my entry to Parker Farm.
I walked up the driveway slowly, in case anyone was watching me. It had to look authentic. I expected to feel self-loathing and disgust but I didn’t feel much at all except a sense of justice.
The JCB had been set on fire – its shell now a burned-out wreck. Any of Balaclava Guy’s blood spatters from his shoulder wound would’ve gone up in smoke.
I made my way to the concrete outbuilding, through the burst-open doors the JCB had smashed through. As I stepped inside, I instantly smelled something I’d come across many times before at the scene of fires. Fire extinguisher foam.