No Way Out: an edge of your seat crime thriller
Page 31
She watched as his eyes drooped, and two minutes later he was asleep. It was quiet, save for the humming and occasional bleeping of the machines he was hooked up to – and she could hear the rain outside as it patted against the window. It was such a depressing place to be. The main thing was that Danny was on the road to recovery; it would take a long time, but she had confidence that he would heal…
It was 21:30 when Lennox parked the unmarked police car in the multi-storey car park he’d chosen to meet Franks in. It was cold, dank, and dimly lit.
On his way up the last ramp, Lennox spotted Barkley’s car on the level below, and while he hadn’t seen Barkley himself, he knew he was crouching down, trying not to be seen. He felt safe knowing his friend was nearby.
Five minutes later, two more cars pulled up next to his. Franks was driving one and two men in plain clothes were driving the other.
Alarm bells went off immediately.
Franks hadn’t mentioned bringing along anyone else when he’d spoken on the phone.
Lennox opened his car door and pulled himself out.
The three officers did the same.
Lennox’s adrenaline kicked in. He was about to be double-crossed again, he could feel it. It was lucky he had backup.
“Well done, Garvey.” Franks held out his hand. “I thank you for helping me out.”
While he was shaking the senior police officer’s hand, the two men in plain clothes walked behind him and grabbed his arms. A second later, he felt the cuffs wrap around his wrists. “You motherfucker! You said we had a deal!”
“We don’t deal with drug smugglers, you should know that by now. These detectives are going to take you back to your cell. You’re going to prison for a very long time.”
“You’re going to fucking regret this, Franks! I promise you that!”
Before he was ushered into the plain-clothed officers’ car, one of the detectives searched him for the keys to the other car, then got in it and drove off. Lennox watched Franks drive off in his own, leaving Lennox alone with the remaining detective, who then drove him towards the police station.
With his hands cuffed behind his back, Lennox watched as the detective drove them down the three ramps to the ground floor, and while he looked behind him, out of the rear window, he couldn’t see Barkley’s car.
There was no way Lennox was going to spend years in prison, no way! He wrestled with his cuffs, trying – fruitlessly – to free his wrists, but it was no use; they weren’t coming off.
“Relax, fella, you’re not getting out of those.”
The detective was looking at him in the rear-view mirror.
Lennox leaned forward, noticing a bulge in the back of the detective’s jeans. Detectives in the UK didn’t carry firearms.
Oh fuck! He wasn’t being driven to any police station.
Franks had ordered his assassination.
He looked behind him through the rear window again, desperately searching for Barkley’s car. When he saw it three cars behind, he turned back around, relieved. “Where are you taking me?”
“The police station, like Commissioner Franks told you.”
“Which police station?”
The detective remained silent, all the confirmation Lennox needed that he wasn’t being booked that night. The man driving him probably wasn’t even a detective; he was probably one of the dealers’ guys involved in the project.
“Hey, since when do detectives carry guns?”
Silence.
He caught the “detective’s” glare in the rear-view mirror and started wriggling his cuffs again, although he wasn’t sure why; there was no way they were getting loose.
After five more minutes of driving, the “detective” turned left into a narrow woody lane, making Lennox more certain than ever that he wasn’t heading for a police station.
The car continued along the narrow lane until it stopped outside a field, where the “detective” got out, opened a gate, and then got back in before driving into the field.
A few seconds later, the “detective” stopped the car, got out, pulled out his gun from behind him, and opened Lennox’s door, the gun pointed straight at him.
Reluctantly, he got out of the car.
“On your knees, fella,” said the “detective”.
Lennox got down on his knees and waited while the driver went to the boot, pulling out two cans of petrol and placing them on the roof.
He could smell the strong odour of petrol immediately.
If he wasn’t going to end up in the boot of a burning car, he had to do something – now.
The “detective” walked up to him, raised his arm, and brought the pistol down hard on the top of his head.
Lennox was dazed, like he’d just been hit by a truck.
“It’s nothing personal,” said the “detective”, grabbing Lennox under his armpits and dragging him to the rear of the car. “In you get, yeah?”
Lennox tried using his weight against the “detective”, but the man was strong enough to lift him up and force him into the boot of the car. Still concussed, Lennox tried to fight with his legs, but it was no good – before he knew it, he was inside the dark confined boot.
He could hear the “detective” pouring the petrol over the car, could smell the fuel all around him, and after what he took to be two minutes or so, he heard a whoosh. He felt the heat surrounding him. He coughed, the petrol tickling his throat.
When he thought his time was up, he heard two loud bangs.
A couple of seconds later the boot popped open.
He felt two strong arms grab him and pull him out, then he fell to the ground, his jeans smoking.
“You okay, Len?”
Relief swept over him. “I’m fine; better than fine.”
Barkley pushed Lennox onto his side, then used the key from the “detective’s” pocket to unlock his cuffs.
When his hands were free, he stood for a moment looking down at the corpse lying on the ground, then he hugged Barkley. “Thanks, brother.”
He bent down and grabbed the corpse’s arms, signalling for Barkley to grab his legs. Then, trying to avoid getting burnt, they both threw the body in the boot.
Covering his hands with his jumper sleeves, Lennox closed the boot and stood back, watching the car burn. “It looks like I’m a dead man,” he said with a smile.
“Come on, Len, we’d better get out of here.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he replied, thinking he had better contact his uncle.
As he walked through the field to Barkley’s car, Lennox started thinking how he was going to get even with Assistant Commissioner Peter Franks and the rest of the conspirators.
He wasn’t going to let this slide; he had vengeance on his mind…
Nasreen looked over at her alarm clock: 23:33. She couldn’t sleep. Too wired; her brain wouldn’t shut down. It always happened after a big case, and this was the biggest case she’d been involved with so far. Although the bunker was gone, Beatrice Harrison dead, and William Rothstein a very wanted man, there were still several missing pieces Nasreen couldn’t put together. She knew she didn’t have the whole picture.
Clive Adams was involved somehow, of that she knew, and if she managed to miraculously get her job back, she vowed to investigate him. If she could find out how he was involved, she could find out more about other players, like whomever he’d been talking to on the phone in the stairwell. He’d said “sir”, so it had to be someone higher up on the Force. Whoever it was, why did they want her off Danny’s case?
As she closed her eyes, she kept thinking of other loose ends, though she knew she had to stop doing it – at least for now.
The first thing she needed to do was focus on getting reinstated.
At least Steven was okay. She had visited him in hospital while his wife and kids were off getting something to eat and drink. He’d been in good spirits considering the surgery he’d endured, and he was happy that the NCA had paid for a private room �
�� it was the least they could do.
Over the next few days, she had lots to focus on.
The following day she had her first interview with the IOPC, something she wasn’t looking forward to. She was hoping that the positive media coverage of her bravery would convince the IOPC to drop her case. She would have to wait and see.
Sighing, she tried again to get to sleep.
Though she didn’t know what her future held, she was hopeful…
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank, first and foremost, you, the reader, for taking a chance on reading my book. Without you picking up and reading it, there would be no need for me writing it, or the publisher releasing it. So, thank you. If you enjoyed No Way Out, please consider leaving a review. And if you’d like some behind the scenes information, please follow me on Instagram: @dcbrockwell or my Facebook page: DC Brockwell Author. In addition to writing, I like gardening and making cocktails, so you’ll find quite a mixed bag on my Instagram account.
I would also love to thank the team at Bloodhound Books. Betsy and Fred, for taking a punt on my story, thank you so much for this opportunity to showcase my work; it’s more appreciated than you know. Morgen Bailey, my editor for shaping it up, ready for publication. Also Heather Fitt and the publicity team. Thank you all for your contributions. I hope I don’t let you all down.
And I can’t sign off without thanking my beta readers, who often pull me up on poor choices with storylines, especially Jayne Tanner, who I can rely on to give it to me straight. You helped give me the confidence to submit ‘No Way Out’. Thank you!
DC Brockwell can be found here:
Instagram: @dcbrockwell
Facebook Page: DCBrockwell Author
Twitter: DCBrockwell
A note from the publisher
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