by Jean Chapman
Maddern passed his knuckles hard across his mouth, emotional and knocked by Cannon’s prompt arrival. ‘So it was you in Lincoln,’ he said as he walked towards him.
‘You look terrible,’ Cannon said as they made a fumbled job of a handshake then just gripped each other and embraced.
‘Thanks,’ Maddern said, ‘always count on your friends to tell you the truth.’
‘So how come you’re on your own? I was sure you were with a Jakes. He didn’t just throw you out and drive away! How did you manage it?’
Maddern shook his head as if much more effort was beyond him, though he said, ‘It’s not over yet.’
Cannon saw his exhaustion, took his elbow and led him back to the jeep. ‘Not sure if this is what a doctor would prescribe, but I think a little nip….’ He pulled a small flask of brandy from the glove compartment and handed it to Maddern, who took a couple of sips, handed it back and began to tell what had happened to him. He did it shortly, succinctly, like a report from a notebook he might produce in court. Cannon once more admired him for his constraint and dignity.
‘So this Jockey has gone to his Uncle Sean, who is waiting for the arrival of the godfather Jakes, the rest of the gang and the loot?’
‘That’s right.’
‘They’re not coming,’ Cannon said and now briefly related his side of the known events.
‘So the old man, Luke, the grandfather, is dead?’
‘Yes and a good few more, on both sides,’ Cannon said, ‘but some of the family may have slipped through.’
‘Jockey said only the family know about this place,’ Maddern told him, ‘but I’d think any survivors might well try to make their way here.’
‘So it’d be useful if we could have a look at the layout before we report back to the police,’ Cannon said.
‘Jockey said it was just around the next corner, and I heard him turn off very quickly after leaving me.’
‘So I’ll pull well into the side and we’ll go on foot.’
When they were some hundred metres around the corner they could still see no building of any kind. The lane was narrow with a copse of silver birch trees to the left and shrubs to the right. They were under the birch trees when they heard the sound of a helicopter coming in low and loud above them. Instinctively they both stopped in the trees and saw the machine coming lower – so low they could hear the swish and slice of the rotors through the air. It dropped out of sight but they had no doubt it was landing.
‘Jockey called the place “the pad”,’ Maddern said.
‘So that’s the way they were going to get out,’ Cannon said. ‘No wonder they didn’t allow phone calls, they wouldn’t want this finding.’
They moved closer, much closer, in the shelter of the trees and undergrowth, and saw that the pad consisted of a low built farmhouse, with a huge, barn-like construction on the right and in the field immediately to the side of this was a concreted landing circle, where the machine had come to rest, its rotors still slowly turning.
They watched as the helicopter now trundled slowly forward until it disappeared into what was obviously its hangar. The pilot came walking out after a couple of minutes and was joined by another man who came from around the corner.
‘Jockey Jakes,’ Maddern breathed.
The pilot stood and watched while Jockey pulled the huge sliding doors closed. Then the two of them walked towards the house.
‘So are they all here?’ the pilot asked.
‘Only me and Sean.’
‘What the hell are they …’ the pilot began, then paused to listen. Another engine – a car this time – was on the lane coming towards the house.
‘Sounds like some of ’em now,’ he added, ‘they’re late!’
What came into sight was a taxi, but there was no passenger and the man who got out of the driver’s seat was no taxi driver. He was certainly a Jakes, and by the state of his clothes, Cannon thought, one of those who had finished up in the river.
‘What the hell?’ a new voice shouted. Sean Jakes stood in the doorway of the house. ‘Josh! What the hell are you doing here … in that?’
‘First thing I could get into. We’ve got to go, Dad.’
‘Go?’ the man roared. ‘Where’re the others?’ He advanced on his son, menacingly repeating, ‘Where’re the others?’
‘The bikers got ’em, then the police had us all surrounded. It’s all up.’
Sean seized his son by his jacket, shook him before he struck him twice across the face. Maddern remembered his father’s and his grandfather’s stories of Jakes children being thrashed by their own fathers. From one generation to another, he thought, as, once more, father struck son, shouting, ‘Talk sense!’
‘It’s true,’ he gestured towards the pilot, ‘tell Jimmie to get the chopper out, let’s get out while we can. If there’re bikers following me, the police’ll be following them for certain.’
‘Get out! With nothing?’ Sean exclaimed.
‘With our lives,’ Josh said, but stepping back as if to be out of range of another beating. ‘Grandpa’s dead, Matt and Tony. I saw them.’
‘And the gold?’ Sean asked. ‘The gold?’
‘The police will have all that by now,’ Josh said, making a last appeal. ‘See sense, Dad, we can start again.’
‘Christ!’ Jimmie shouted. ‘What’re we doing standing ’ere chewing the fat, let’s get out while we can. Come on, Jockey, get those doors open again.’
‘Wait!’ Sean ordered, drawing a gun from a holster under his armpit. ‘We’ll do it my way. You open the doors,’ he gestured at his son, ‘I want Jockey to carry some things out for me.’
‘Then we go,’ Jimmie said, ‘so OK, why the gun?’
‘Then we go,’ Sean repeated and motioned Jockey towards the front door with the revolver.
Maddern watched and before the helicopter was once more rolled out to the take-off area, Jockey had already been out and put four bulging holdalls on the front doorstep. Sean obviously had some private loot he did not mean to leave behind.
They watched Jockey take the second two bags to the helicopter. Sean stood with just a single bag left at his feet. So why wasn’t he carrying that over himself?
‘What’s he up to?’ Maddern whispered.
‘He’s not got long, whatever,’ Cannon assured him. ‘The police are on their way.’
Jockey came back towards his uncle. There was something about Sean Jakes that reminded Cannon of the way a man stood waiting for the target at a shooting range to turn – poised and ready to lift the gun from his side to fire. Cannon drew the gun Austin had made him keep.
‘Are we going now?’ Jockey asked, as he neared his uncle.
‘Yes, I’m going, you moron,’ Sean said and raised the gun, ‘but you’re staying here.’
‘Drop! Jockey! Drop!’ Maddern roared, springing out into the open.
Cannon saw a kaleidoscope of rapid images: Jockey’s startled face, him falling to the floor as if pole-axed; Sean Jakes fired twice, three times; Maddern fell; Sean scooped up the last bag and made for the helicopter, which looked ready for take-off, rotors whirling.
Cannon raised his gun and took careful aim. Overhead, he heard the sound of the police helicopter Austin had promised would be there in minutes. As he ran towards Maddern he saw he had hit Sean in the leg but the man was still trying to drag himself and his bag towards the helicopter. Cannon reached Jim Maddern and saw he was covered in blood.
‘Hit in the groin,’ Maddern gasped, his hand pressed deep into the top of his left leg, but the blood was bubbling through. In seconds, Cannon had ripped his jacket and shirt off, rolled the shirt into a compact pad then, as Maddern removed his hand, pushed this more firmly and effectively into the wound.
‘It’s bad,’ Maddern said.
‘You’ll be fine, keep still.’
I’m not going to lose you now, he thought, and concentrated on keeping the pad hard down to stem the bleeding.
In the di
stance, they could hear the sound of a police siren and overhead the police helicopter loomed in and hovered menacingly above the revolving rotors of the one on the ground. There was no way that was going to be able to get airborne and the two men aboard abandoned it, running in opposite directions into the surrounding woodland. Sean emptied his revolver after his son and his pilot, but stopped neither of them. Cannon had no doubt the police heat-imaging cameras would keep them well in view and they would be picked up.
While Cannon steadfastly and motionlessly kept the right pressure on the wound to save Maddern from bleeding to death, everything around him was action and movement. The men in the first police car which screamed into the arena radioed for the urgent attendance of the air ambulance. One man wanted to take over from Cannon. Maddern was alarming him by beginning to drift into unconsciousness and he thought they might lose him, fumbling about, changing over. ‘We’ll wait for the medics, won’t we, Jim?’ he said, demanding Maddern stayed awake and paid attention as he now talked to him, giving a running commentary of what was happening.
‘They’re attending to “Uncle Sean”,’ he told him, ‘not too gently; he’s being cuffed, he’s not co-operating. Jockey’s already sitting in the back of the police car.’
There was a new roar above their head. ‘Here’s the air ambulance, Jim, soon have you up, up and away, you lucky lad. Margaret’ll be pleased to see you safe and sound.’
At the sound of his wife’s name Maddern opened his eyes, then frowned as he saw Cannon naked to the waist, and blood-splattered, bending over him.
The noise of this third helicopter landing on the grass next to the helipad – just as the police helicopter veered out of the airspace – drowned out all talk. In minutes, Maddern was being expertly attended to, blood transfusions were set up and Cannon found himself automatically included in the ride to the hospital – which was fine by him. There was no way he was going to leave Jim’s side now.
Chapter 26
In a sweater loaned to him by one of the air ambulance crew and with money obtained from the hospital shop after a call to Liz and relay of a card number, Cannon prepared to wait it out.
Somewhere in this complex, hushed world, Jim Maddern’s life was being fought for, and his wife was on the way to his bedside.
He called Austin, who told him with grim satisfaction that they had many of the Faima and a few of the remaining Jakeses in custody. ‘By the time we’ve interviewed, fingerprinted and DNA’d this lot we’ll have the biggest clear-up rates of crimes in the history of the force,’ he said. With the tone of a weary barrister refusing to defend a despicable wrong-doer, he added ‘And we’ve got Jones – who wept – so whatever, we’ll get no credit from the press, their focus will be all the bad apples in the barrel.’
Not all, Cannon silently resolved. Whatever the outcome he would make sure the part of a very special sergeant was told. Cannon knew some people on national newspapers; he’d make certain the whole true story was printed.
He tried to settle to the job of waiting. One person alone in the midst of so many – their lives on pause, but nearly all supported by their nearest and dearest or by neighbours and friends. He shook his head a little, wondering at the importance of human companionship at these times.
His own thoughts turned back to Jim, Margaret and their three daughters, then to the family he did not know, the one whose daughter had been murdered in a midland park. He felt sure Katie Maddern would want to visit them sometime. Not an easy thing to do – and if Jim did not pull through….
He was reminded of an old Met constable who had spoken gently to a young Cannon, distressed by his first sudden death. ‘It’s our line of business,’ the old hand had told him. ‘People die. Our job is to find out why and make it easier for those left behind.’
‘John,’ a voice said. He looked up to see Liz standing immediately in front of him. A surge of gratitude and love for a moment made him incapable of speech or movement. Then he reached for her hand and pulled her down onto the bench next to him.
‘Thanks for coming,’ he said.
‘How are things?’ she asked, holding on to his hand. ‘What happened to your clothes?’
He shook his head. ‘They’ve sent for Margaret,’ he said. ‘If Jim’s brother set off with her straight away they should be here in about three hours; meantime …’
‘It’s just waiting,’ she said.
‘Coffee?’ he asked.
They were two coffees and a snack into the waiting time when, alerted by a phone call relayed from Alamat at The Trap to Liz, they learned that Jim’s brother, Mark, and Margaret were nearing Lincoln.
Liz and Cannon were in reception when they arrived.
‘Have you seen Jim?’ Margaret asked as she came towards them.
Liz took her into her arms as Cannon told her, ‘Not since he went down to theatre, but we should let them know you’ve arrived. I’m sure they will come and talk to you as soon as they can.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Liz said and went towards the desk, Mark Maddern going with her.
‘He’s not…?’ Margaret asked the worst outcome without putting it into words.
‘No, no,’ Cannon began, watching as the woman on the reception desk picked up a phone even as Liz and Mark talked to her. ‘Here,’ he said, giving her his coffee. ‘It is hot, I’ve only just fetched it.’
Margaret took it, but just held it until Cannon gently lifted it towards her lips. ‘Just a sip,’ he encouraged, but the plastic cup never reached her lips as a nurse in white with blue plastic gloves, hat and apron over her uniform came over to them.
‘Mrs Maddern?’ she enquired.
‘My husband, Jim?’ she asked.
‘Yes, would you like to come through to see him? He has been taken from recovery to intensive care.’ She led the way through what seemed a maze of corridors at the quick nurse’s pace they use to cover these distances, and all of them followed as best they could with their legs hardly feeling they belonged to them.
They all stood back as Margaret went into the intensive care suite first. Jim Maddern lay surrounded by monitors and drips, his face colourless. Cannon found himself looking at the repeating patterns on the screens for reassurance he was still with them.
A nurse placed a chair for Margaret near the head of the bed. ‘You can talk to him,’ she said kindly with a nod and a smile, ‘it may help.’
Margaret sat down, lifted Jim’s hand into her own. ‘Jim, my love,’ she said and her voice broke a little as she asked, ‘what have they done to you?’
There seemed to be no perceptible change, and yet something did happen, they all seemed to sense it. Had Maddern heard his wife’s voice? They said the facility of hearing was the last to go, that patients seemingly far gone could still show signs of responding.
Then Cannon saw his fingers close over his wife’s hand; the nurse saw it too. ‘Keep talking gently to him,’ she encouraged, ‘I’ll tell the doctor.’ She gently ushered the others outside. ‘There’s a family room,’ she said, ‘you can wait in here.’ She opened a door at the end of the short corridor leading to intensive care.
Cannon exchanged glances with Liz, each knowing exactly what the other was thinking. This was a room which had subdued but definite opulence, deep armchairs and settee, a soothing dark-green and blue decor, a room to bring as much comfort as possible to those waiting on the life-and-death struggles of their dear ones.
‘So what has been happening?’ Mark asked in a low voice once they were seated. ‘Damned if I understand half of it.’ He was much like his brother – ruddier of complexion, a little shorter, but had that direct way of looking at you when he spoke.
‘I don’t know all that happened to Jim …’ Cannon said, but he told Mark and Liz the main outline as he knew it.
‘And it all began because Jim recognized his paperboy as belonging to a local family, the Jakeses,’ Liz said. ‘He had the family face.’
‘And build,’ Cannon added.
&n
bsp; Mark swore under his breath. ‘We all knew the Jakeses, they were a blight on the landscape …’ he was saying as the door opened once more and Margaret came in.
‘Margaret?’ Liz rose to meet her.
‘The doctor asked me to leave him for a few minutes while he made some checks, then he’ll come to see us,’ she said. ‘Jim did hold my hand, didn’t he? It wasn’t just a reaction, a …’
Cannon wanted to ask if he had opened his eyes but thought better of it, instead he assured her, ‘I think we all felt his reaction to you.’
‘His fingers curled around yours,’ Liz said gently, leading her to the sofa.
‘And then there’s the girls,’ Margaret said, ‘I must phone them soon.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Mark said, ‘when we have a bit more news I’ll phone them and as soon as you want me to I’ll drive back and bring them home to you.’
‘Home,’ Margaret said wistfully, ‘I’ve almost forgotten what the cottage looks like, so much has happened.’
Liz and John exchanged glances. The state of the cottage was something they were certainly not going to divulge at that moment. Cannon was still pondering this question when the door opened again and a tall, young doctor came in.
‘Mrs Maddern,’ he nodded reassuringly at her, ‘your husband is rallying. We were worried for quite a time. It wasn’t just the groin. He has so many other injuries. I’m not even sure how your husband managed to walk about before he was shot.’
‘He won’t give in!’ she said, shaking her head. ‘He just won’t.’
‘It’s probably the reason he’s still with us,’ the doctor smiled, ‘and I think I can say he probably needs you sitting quietly by his side more than he needs us right now.’
Margaret was taken back to the bedside immediately and then, after a time, Mark was allowed to go to see his brother. Mark was a much-relieved man when he came back into the family room.