Deadly Serious

by Jean Chapman

  ‘Damn,’ he muttered. Jones would surely recognize him or his jeep. However, he then heard Jones splatter gravel as he turned the police car around and saw him go past at some speed. He glimpsed the inspector bent forward over the steering wheel, looking as if urging the car faster and totally absorbed in his own thoughts.

  He span on his heel again and walked quickly back to Maddern’s front door where there was another surprise. The door was badly splintered near the lock.

  He rang the bell twice before a pale and exhausted-looking Jim Maddern opened it. Maddern looked relieved when he saw who it was. ‘I thought Jones had come back,’ he said, stepping back for Cannon to enter.

  ‘You’ve been broken into,’ Cannon said. He was not prepared for the devastation as Maddern – with only the minimum of words – showed him from room to room. ‘In here.’ They went to the kitchen first. Every drawer and cupboard had been turned out onto the floor, pots, glasses, even the glass doors in the cooker and microwave had been smashed. Doors had been crow-barred from the washing-machine and the drier. The only glass he could see that was not broken was the window-glass. ‘And here.’ Maddern led him into the sitting-room where the television had been wrenched from the wall, a glass display cabinet pulled over and what looked like a comprehensive collection of charming Beatrix Potter figures decimated. ‘Upstairs.’

  This was worse, for not only had everything been tipped out, but obviously, as both men knew from experience and the smell, at least one of the intruders had found his excitement level so high that like a child he could not control his bladder and had emptied it in Maddern’s bedroom.

  But it was the red sprayed messages on every bedroom wall that were more alarming. ‘This is just the start.’ ‘Got your address book.’ ‘We’ll find them.’ In the last bedroom, one of the girls’, the message read ‘Wreaths all round!’.

  ‘Jones’s reaction?’ Cannon demanded.

  ‘He said he’d tried to warn me off and if I’d done what he’d said and kept my knowledge to myself this would not have happened.’

  ‘Why was he here – by himself?’ Cannon asked, wondering about Scene of Crime and forensics.

  ‘The surveillance teams were under instructions to just observe, not on any account to interfere with any member of the Jakes gang. Jones was just to be told when I was home. I’m only just back….’ His deep voice broke as he added, ‘My bag’s still in the car.’

  ‘Surveillance teams?’

  ‘He told me there’s been a covert operation going on for some time between the Midland and East Anglian police forces. He said it’s the biggest operation he’s ever been involved in. They knew George Jakes – the old man we saw released – had been getting messages out of prison, organizing the regrouping of his gang, and his assets.’

  ‘To leave the country,’ Cannon guessed.

  ‘Jones nearly drooled when he mentioned the assets,’ Maddern said bitterly, looking at the damage done to the home he had bought for his retirement.

  ‘Yes,’ Cannon heard himself agree, ‘but why didn’t he tell you all this before? Doesn’t he trust the longest serving man in his section?’

  Maddern shrugged. ‘He says it’s all coming to a head fairly soon, and nothing must be done now to jeopardize what’ll be the biggest police coup for years.’

  ‘Did he say anything about our activities?’ Cannon asked.

  ‘Leicester?’ Maddern asked, shook his head and leaned back on the wall as if he needed support, and added, ‘I’ve been put on compassionate leave so I can re-join my family. Jones was surprised we had not all come home together.’

  It had not been Leicester Cannon was thinking of. If the Jakeses were under surveillance….

  ‘Jones asked me for a key, says he will ensure my home is put to rights,’ Maddern said, then turned suddenly and drove his fist against the wall catching the door-frame with his knuckles.

  Cannon could have joined him in the futile outburst as Maddern said, ‘But he can’t do that, can he? The bastards have destroyed twenty-six years of home-building, all the things Margaret’s collected and loves….’ He looked like a man totally bereft. ‘How can I tell her?’ he asked.

  Cannon wondered how many times a man could be knocked down and still get up. He hesitated to burden Maddern with the knowledge that Danny and his mother were hidden at The Trap, or that he had not only seen how vast the assets were, but that they were enough to make even an honest man drool. ‘So you are going back to your brother’s farm?’

  ‘I am, if they’ve taken our address book I’m not risking anyone down there being at risk. I’ll just drive to one of those travel inns, stay there the night, then go on tomorrow. As I say, my bag’s still in the car.’

  ‘Right,’ Cannon agreed.

  ‘The inspector said he would keep me fully informed,’ Maddern interrupted, ‘on everything. I don’t think you should get involved any further.’

  Cannon kept remarkably still, then offered his own advice, ‘So just drive to the first overnight place you come to and rest, yes?’

  Maddern nodded. ‘I will, and thanks, you know, for everything you’ve done. Not sure how I would have coped in Leicester without you, but now Jones seems to have everything covered.’

  ‘Right,’ Cannon said again but hoping he kept the edge of doubt out of his voice this time.

  The bar was already busy when he got back. He and Liz ran the gauntlet of uneasy half-messages all evening as they served in the bar – so much so that Hoskins had asked them if they had ‘had a domestic’.

  After they had closed, Liz had gone through to the kitchen and, by the time Cannon had seen Hoskins off into the mild damp February night and locked up, she was sitting at the table with cups of tea poured.

  Cannon sat across the table from her, and felt a little like a man shown into the police station interview room. He pursed his lips to prevent the merest twist of a smile of pleasure as he looked at her, but he got away with nothing.

  ‘This is serious, John,’ she said, defying him to make any kind of jokey remark. ‘I gather that we have blundered into a big police operation.’

  ‘If what Jones has told Maddern is correct, yes.’

  ‘If! You doubt it!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘With reason,’ he said, sipping his tea, quizzing her through the steam.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said.

  He put his cup down carefully. ‘Jones,’ he said, ‘apparently didn’t know about us having been to Leicester, of bringing Katie home, or of her friend being murdered merely because she went after, and saw, whoever delivered a box to the daughter of his police sergeant. A police sergeant who lives almost next door to where Grandpappie Jakes is holed up. So,’ Cannon declared, ‘not much liaison there between the Midland and East Anglian forces.’

  ‘Perhaps Jones didn’t have time to go into all that, I mean….’

  ‘Jones thought the Madderns were all still on holiday. He was surprised when they didn’t all come home together.’ Cannon’s voice had taken on the deeper, more serious note that Liz knew meant he was quite sure something was very wrong. ‘Plus,’ he went on, ‘these surveillance teams let me walk across the village green with an unconscious woman on my shoulders and Danny by my side, then drive back here with no sign of any other vehicle anywhere in sight, no helicopter overhead, nothing!’

  ‘On the other hand,’ Liz intervened, ‘if there was no liaison and no surveillance how could Jones know that Maddern was coming home? You said Jim’s bag was still in the car.’

  ‘Reason to doubt,’ Cannon repeated, ‘reason to question who is watching who.’

  ‘What are you saying exactly?’ she questioned.

  ‘I’m asking if Jones is telling the truth.’

  ‘I know you don’t exactly like the man,’ Liz said, ‘but if you suspect him of lying, what can he be lying about?’

  ‘Police involvement,’ Cannon suggested.

  ‘Why should he make that up?’

  ‘Because he’s a b
ent copper and needs to throw Maddern off the scent,’ he suggested.

  ‘Come on,’ Liz appealed, ‘you’re making some Olympic-sized leaps in the dark.’

  ‘Other things keep coming into my head. Jones came down here from the North, from a bigger force to a smaller one, but it didn’t involve any promotion. In fact I would think his chances of advancement must be less here than where he was. He was here about four years, stagnating in his job, no home life, then suddenly, early last year, a woman appears. There’s been no hint of any kind of relationship before, particularly not with the ulta-smart bit of stuff his partner’s rumoured to be – and no one knows anything about her.’

  ‘She doesn’t shop locally. I’ve heard that over the bar counter. Everything ordered online, weekly grocery deliveries, and clothes she goes to London for.’

  ‘And,’ Cannon added, ‘they hardly seemed together many weeks and they move into a rather splendid house overlooking the estuary. Did she have money?’

  ‘Inspector Jones never gave any sign of being over-flush, so you’re suggesting …’

  ‘There are things that want looking into, questions to be asked.’

  ‘So now I have a question,’ she said pointedly, ‘Danny and his mother?’

  ‘I wouldn’t put their lives at any great value if the family find out where they are. Knowing those two are on the loose must be driving old man Jakes spare,’ he said, ‘and, cornered, we both know these ruthless men will use extreme,’ he twisted his lips into an expression of revulsion, ‘even bizarre methods to stay out of the reach of the law.’

  Liz moved uncomfortably; she had been at the wrong end of a vengeful gang member driving a 4x4. The memory had given her nightmares for years. ‘Heaven help anyone who tries to stand in their way,’ she said fervently, ‘and you think they’re going to try to move all the gold and stuff soon?’

  ‘I know so,’ he said with complete certainty.

  ‘So we have to keep these two out of harm’s way,’ she said.

  ‘Hopefully….’ he looked at her expectantly.

  She took a deep breath and exhaled very slowly, accepting that they were inextricably involved and she might as well do her best. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘so there’s the question of Danny’s school, and his paper round. Do we get Danny’s mother to write a note to the school and we post it? Do we tell the newsagent?’

  ‘Yes to both, I think. I’ll see Russell—’ He stopped speaking when his mobile rang. ‘Bit late,’ he commented, ‘though it may be Maddern.’ He answered the call. ‘Cannon.’

  ‘Cannon,’ a man’s voice queried. There was a slight pause then, ‘landlord of The Trap public house on the Reed St Thomas Road?’

  ‘Who is this?’ Cannon asked and the phone went dead. He tapped in 1471 and was told the caller had withheld their number. It left them both with a sense of unease. Everyone had plenty of such calls – but not usually this late. Perhaps they were just uneasy because, as Liz said, they did have something to hide.

  Even so, Cannon felt the need to walk out and make a careful circuit of the whole place before he switched on his security lights and went to bed. He walked from the back door to the front of the pub, along by his front door, turned right past the arch into the stable-block – pausing to see that the only light was from Alamat’s bedroom – then he paced the width of the beer garden to the hedge. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he could make out and recognize every feature: benches, litterbin, children’s slide and swings to the rear of the grassed area. Nothing, he thought, could look more orderly, be more normal. He walked on to the back boundary, to the fence which led out to the fields, marshes and eventually the beach, one of his favourite morning jogs.

  He held the top rung and tipped his head back, looking upwards; there was quite a wind which felt cold but good – cleansing on his face. There were many miles of cloud cover to pass as there was no break in it, no glimpse of moon or stars.

  He closed his eyes, valuing the moment, but then the hairs on the back of his neck rose as he sensed he was not alone. He remained motionless, every sense strained for proof. Was there a footfall? The faintest crack of a twig? Without any sign that he had been alerted he span round, his back to the fence to provide leverage should he need it for escape – or attack.

  For a second or two he still could not locate anything or anyone. It was not until he looked at the boundary hedge he had walked that he made out movement; a blacker shape moved against blackness. A man – a big man with big shoulders – was coming his way. A Jakes?

  The figure came steadily on towards him and Cannon calculated that the back door of the pub was unlocked and there was no way he was leaving Liz vulnerable.

  ‘That’s close enough,’ he said in a low hard voice.

  ‘It’s Maddern, John.’

  ‘In the name of all the gods! Good thing I’m not armed – I’d probably have shot you,’ Cannon hissed.

  ‘Listen,’ Maddern said urgently, ‘I reckon it was Jones who ordered my house trashed.’

  Cannon caught his breath. ‘Did you just phone me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I thought you were going to the nearest travel inn?’

  ‘I did, but I’m going back and staying there until we’ve sorted this out.’ Maddern was at his side now. ‘I stopped some way along the road, wondering what to do as it was so late, then I saw you come walking round the pub.’

  ‘What do you mean, Jones ordered your home trashed?’ Cannon asked, but he felt like a hound with a fresh scent. He was not the only one who knew matters were not right.

  ‘You think there’s something not quite kosher,’ Maddern said. ‘I can hear it in your voice.’ He leaned back with a great exhaled breath. That the man was totally weary, there was no doubt, but he was clear enough in what he had decided. ‘That man showed me round my own home like someone displaying his handiwork,’ he stated. ‘I was so upset, so sick at heart, with everything, I couldn’t think properly. It wasn’t until I lay on the bed in that travel place that I knew what it was. Jones’s manner was all wrong. Had he been the uncaring bastard he usually was I wouldn’t have thought anything, but when he started saying things like, “Look at your wife’s beautiful collection of figures” and “They’ve even broken …” Whatever, we went around the whole house like that. Then he gives me leave from that moment….’

  ‘To get you out of the way,’ Cannon said.

  ‘But he’s not succeeded.’

  ‘This is a dangerous game, and if we’re wrong …’

  ‘My cottage is paid for,’ Maddern stated, ‘and my family are as safe as me and my brother can make them. I spoke to him earlier.’

  ‘You’d better come back to the kitchen with me. I’ve quite a lot to tell you before we decide what to do next.’

  Chapter 9

  It struck Cannon that he had spent more time in the back of Russell’s shop than in the shop itself.

  ‘I managed to find an extra paperboy as it happens, but are Danny and his mother safe?’ Russell asked, rubbing his hand backwards and forwards through his sparse grey hair, adding a halo of fluster to his look of his concern.

  ‘Safe?’ Cannon quietly queried the word he would not have expected from the newsagent.

  ‘It’s just that old Thompson came in just before we closed last night, in quite a state. He’d come for bread and bacon, said he’d had nothing to eat all day, he was too “churned up”. I brought him in here – he certainly needed to tell someone what he was worried about.’

  Cannon hoped Smithson’s neighbour had heeded his warning to stay out of sight. Russell’s next statement did not reassure him.

  ‘Well, what he’d seen, really,’ the newsagent continued.

  ‘Seen?’ Cannon was becoming more concerned by the minute.

  ‘I think he keeps an eye on most things on the estate, but yesterday he couldn’t come out to do his shopping because of what was going on at Danny’s house. He said he’d seen about everything and everybody e
xcept Danny and his mother …’ Russell paused and looked at Cannon for reassurance.

  ‘They’re safe,’ he said. ‘They’re being looked after.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ Russell said, and when Cannon was not forthcoming with any more detail, he added, ‘You’ll be in touch with Sergeant Maddern, so I don’t want to pry into police business. As long as they’re OK.’

  Cannon nodded and encouraged him to go on, ‘So Thompson saw …’

  ‘Three men, he said, all in white overalls like removal men, but he said he’d seen at least two of ’em before. In particular, he mentioned a vicious, sour-faced-looking customer he’d seen coming and going in the small hours of the morning with another guy bringing things. But this time they were moving things out – bags and boxes – into a white Mercedes van, and in broad daylight. As soon as they had loaded the van, two men went with that, one man stayed behind. Thompson said he could hear him moving things, as if he was getting the next load ready.’

  Not from inside his own house he couldn’t, Cannon thought grimly.

  ‘The van was back inside a couple of hours. It was reloaded the same as before and driven away. After this second lot had gone, the old boy came to do his shopping, wanting to know if young Danny had been to do his paper round. When I said he hadn’t he was talking about having someone he could ring for help, and off he went.’

  That would be me, Cannon thought, but no call had come, nothing until that late-night caller who had tried to check his name and address then rung off – and now he remembered the business card he had given Thompson, his mobile number written on the back. If that had fallen into the wrong hands …

  Then both men jumped, lost in thoughts of other phone calls, as Cannon’s mobile chimed faint Bow Bells in his pocket. ‘Born a cockney,’ he was explaining to Russell until he saw who was calling him.