Deadly Vengeance: A gripping crime thriller full of twists and turns (Detective Jane Phillips Book 3)

by OMJ Ryan

Jones got up and followed her in, closing the door behind him. ‘So, what happened with Fox then, Guv?’

  Phillips sighed and dropped into her leather chair. ‘She says Saxby and I are both at fault for the failed drop last night. That if we don’t find Hollie alive ASAP, we can both expect heads to roll.’

  ‘But how can it be your fault, Guv? It was Saxby’s op.’

  ‘I know. And I tried to make that point. She wasn’t having it. I’m the SIO in charge of the investigation, so in her mind, I’m as much to blame as him. Maybe more so.’

  ‘So what about Saxby? What’s happening with him?’

  Phillips forced a faint smile. ‘Well. That’s the good news. She’s sent him back to London. She says his expertise is no longer needed in Manchester.’

  ‘She said that?’

  ‘Yep. Straight to his face.’

  Jones chuckled. ‘I’d have paid good money to see that.’

  ‘I have to admit, it was almost worth the bollocking just to see the little toad squirm.’

  ‘So how long have we got before the shit hits the fan?’ said Jones.

  ‘The rest of today, I reckon. Maybe tomorrow, depending on how Fox’s meetings go today with the top brass and Hawkins. But after that, if Hollie doesn’t turn up, I think I’ll be gone.’

  Jones’s eyes widened like saucers. ‘Come on, Guv. They can’t get rid of you!’

  Phillips placed her elbows on the desk and her hands on the sides of her head. ‘Yes they can. The truth is, I’m not Fox’s type of copper, and there’s no way she’s gonna take the flack for me. If it comes down to it and Sir Richard and his cronies kick up a stink, I’ll be under the bus in two seconds flat.’

  ‘Well, we’d better get cracking and find Hollie then, hadn’t we?’ said Jones.

  At that moment, Entwistle, holding his laptop, knocked on the door. ‘Guv, I’ve found something. I’m not sure if it’s connected, but I thought it was worth you taking a look.’

  Phillips waved him in.

  Just then, Jones’s mobile began to ring, and he pulled it from his trouser pocket. ‘Shit. It’s Izzie. Why is she calling so early?’

  ‘You’d better answer it,’ she said.

  As Jones left the room, Entwistle approached Phillips’s desk and placed his laptop down.

  ‘Like I say, Guv, it might be nothing, but I found this old story from 2011.’ He turned the screen to face her.

  Phillips found herself looking at an archive newspaper article.

  Entwistle continued. ‘Hawkins has been involved in a kidnap and ransom situation before.’

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘No. It happened when a team of contractors working for him in Syria were snatched by so-called ISIS freedom fighters. They demanded millions of pounds-worth of munitions in return for the group’s safe return. Hawkins didn’t pay, and they were publicly executed after four days.’

  ‘Jesus,’ whispered Phillips.

  ‘At the time, Hawkins claimed he wasn’t given enough time to meet the kidnappers’ demands. There’s a quote here, from him, saying, “they were unrealistic in their demands and killed the hostages after just four days. It is a huge regret for me that I wasn’t more forceful and demanded a week. If I had, perhaps those hostages would still be alive today.” It struck me that this might be why the kidnappers chose seven days, and the fact they said in the ransom video, “We will accept no excuses.”’

  ‘I can see the link, but it all seems a bit elaborate doesn’t it?’

  ‘Maybe it’s their way of letting him know that they know about Syria?’

  ‘Maybe. And if that’s the case, then they must be somehow connected to him and know how he operates, how he thinks, the kind of bullshit he peddles.’

  ‘Which means they’ve probably worked for him before, Guv.’

  Phillips sat back in her chair. ‘So who are we missing? Everyone we checked out had an alibi.’

  Entwistle let out a frustrated sigh. ‘I honestly don’t know, Guv. I’ve looked at everyone remotely connected to him and found nothing.’

  ‘In that case, it’s time to start going back over those we’ve already spoken to. There must be something we’re not seeing.’

  ‘I’ll get straight onto it,’ said Entwistle.

  ‘Good stuff. But, before you go. Why haven’t I heard of this story before? I mean, I remember all those ISIS abductions and beheadings in Syria. They were all over the TV. Why not this one?’

  ‘Because the team involved wasn’t British. They were locals, working for Hawkins. He had a small factory there, which was heavily armed. They used to bus the employees in and out. These guys were admin staff who were snatched on their way home one night. No one in the UK was bothered about a bunch of Syrians being executed, so it never made the mainstream papers.’

  ‘I can imagine that’s why Hawkins refused to pay; no reputational damage back home if he didn’t,’ said Phillips.

  ‘The same thought had crossed my mind, Guv.’

  At that moment, Jones rushed back into the office, eyes wide.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Phillips.

  ‘It’s Bov, Guv. He’s awake!’

  Phillips’s heart missed a beat. ‘Oh. Thank God!’

  ‘Izzie says he’s been asking for us. He’s insisting on it.’

  Phillips jumped from her chair. ‘Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s get over there.’

  Half an hour later, Phillips, Jones and Entwistle made their way into the spinal unit of the MRI. It was a sobering affair as they passed down the central corridor that fed rooms of up to six people, each with varying degrees of spinal injury and paralysis. Unbeknownst to the team, Bovalino had been transferred there from the ICU late the previous night.

  Izzie was waiting for them outside a private room, and beckoned them over when they came into view.

  Phillips gave her a hug as they met. ‘How is he?’

  Tears began to well up in Izzie’s eyes. ‘He’s ok. In and out of sleep. Kind of lucid one minute, then totally incoherent the next. Apparently he has a urinary infection, which can cause problems with his speech. Come in and see for yourself. I’m afraid he’s zonked out again at the minute.’

  Phillips followed her into the room, with Jones and Entwistle close behind.

  Bovalino lay in bed with his eyes shut. His back and head were raised to a forty-five-degree angle, and he was surrounded by a host of machines monitoring his vital signs. He looked frail, and even smaller than the last time Phillips had seen him, in the back of the ambulance. As Izzie approached, he opened his eyes slowly.

  ‘There’s someone here to see you, Leo,’ said Izzie.

  Bov turned to face Phillips and, after a long moment, smiled weakly. She squeezed his hand while Jones and Entwistle appeared at her shoulder.

  ‘How are you, Bov?’

  Bovalino’s mouth and lips appeared bone dry. Phillips guessed it was a side effect from being on the ventilator they had used during his induced coma. He was clearly finding it hard to speak. ‘Ok,’ he said, his voice croaky and barely audible.

  ‘You had us worried there, pretending to be Spiderman. You silly bugger.’

  Bovalino cracked a thin smile.

  ‘No more climbing. Ok?’

  Bovalino closed his eyes and nodded.

  Phillips turned to Izzie now. ‘What have the doctors said?’

  ‘Some sensation has come back in his toes and feet, but he still can’t move his legs. They’re hoping that’ll come back too – in time.’

  Bov opened his eyes again and began trying to say something.

  ‘What is it, Bov?’ asked Phillips, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. She leaned in closer, her ear next to his mouth. After a few more attempts, she turned to face Jones. ‘I think he’s saying something about a “breaker”.’

  Jones’s brow furrowed. ‘Breaker?’

  Bovalino moved his head from side to side, then repeated the word. But it still wasn’t clear.

  �
�I’m sorry, Bov. I don’t understand,’ said Phillips.

  Izzie interjected now. ‘I think he’s trying to say “the baker”. He kept repeating it last night, when he came round, and then again when they were moving him, “Baker, baker”. I didn’t pay any attention to it then. I just figured he was drugged up and the effects of the infection. But this morning – before I called you, Jonesy – his speech was better and he was clearly saying “Baker”. He kept saying, “Get Jonesy – the girl and baker.”

  Phillips leaned in close and spoke in a clear, slow voice. ‘Bov, the man who attacked you – the man who took Hollie—’ Bovalino opened his eyes. ‘—was it Marcus Baker?’

  Phillips stood upright in anticipation. Bovalino nodded.

  ‘So, you’re saying that one of the kidnappers is Marcus Baker?’

  Bovalino nodded.

  ‘Jesus, Guv,’ said Jones. ‘He’s the guy that punched Hawkins.’

  Phillips squeezed Bovalino’s hand tightly. ‘Well done, Bov. You never stop being a detective, do you?’

  Bovalino smiled and closed his eyes again.

  Phillips turned to Jones and Entwistle. ‘We need to find Baker yesterday. It’s probably a long shot, Jonesy, but let’s start with his house.’

  ‘Got it,’ said Jones.

  ‘Entwistle, I want you looking into his background. Find out who he served with, where and when. John Robbins reckons one of the gang is female and, based on the way she moved when they grabbed Hollie, probably saw active combat. There can’t be too many women who fit that description among his former colleagues. Finding her is crucial to narrowing down who the rest of the team could be. Also, find out which network Marcus Baker’s phone is connected to. Let’s see if they can track its most recent movements.’

  ‘I’ll get a cab back to the office and start digging,’ said Entwistle.

  ‘Good. As soon as you find anything, call me. Ok?’

  Entwistle nodded, and Phillips turned back to face Bov. He was asleep again. ‘Keep us posted, Izzie.’

  ‘I will, Jane.’

  Phillips walked around the bed and gave her a hug. ‘He’s gonna be ok, you know. He’s a fighter. He’ll come through this. You both will.’

  As Phillips pulled back, tears were streaming down Izzie’s face. She nodded and smiled. ‘I’m sorry. We have to go. Are you gonna be ok?’

  Izzie wiped her nose with a tissue. ‘Yeah. My sisters will be here again in a bit. They’ll look after me.’

  Phillips squeezed her hand one last time before Jones stepped in and wrapped her up in a warm embrace.

  A couple of minutes later, Phillips, Jones and Entwistle exited the spinal ward with renewed focus, on the hunt for Marcus Baker and his gang.

  42

  Jones drove to Marcus Baker’s address in Hulme. It was a short trip, only a few minutes from the MRI to the densely populated suburb on the outskirts of the city centre. Baker’s house had been part of the original development project that had regenerated Hulme in the late nineties and early noughties, a three-floored townhouse overlooking the park.

  The MCU relied heavily on their uniformed counterparts when it came to kicking down suspects’ doors. Thirty minutes later, a team of four uniformed officers stood ready to go into Baker’s home, kitted out in protective helmets and stab vests. The lead officer held a small, but powerful, battering ram. Two more uniformed officers waited at the rear of the property in case Baker tried to make a run for it.

  With no time to spare, Phillips gave the order to go in. Two deafening thuds followed, and the door swung open on its hinges. Shouts of ‘Police!’ filled the small hallway as the team rushed inside. Phillips and Jones, also wearing stab vests, followed them into the house and upstairs to the first floor. It was open plan and military clean, the furniture immaculate, and the space looked like a show-home. They moved up to the second floor, where they found two bedrooms and a bathroom in the same condition as downstairs. But no sign of Baker.

  ‘Well, he’s definitely not here, Guv,’ said Jones.

  ‘It was always a long shot,’ said Phillips, ‘but it’s bloody annoying.’

  Just then, Phillips’s phone rang. It was Entwistle. She answered it and held it between her and Jones. ‘You’re on speaker. What have you got?’

  ‘Ok,’ said Entwistle. ‘Baker’s phone has been off-line for a week, so there’s no way to track him from that.’

  ‘Always one step ahead,’ said Jones.

  ‘But I have had a little more luck on identifying the female in the gang.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, because we know Marcus Baker was a para, I looked to see which women had served in the Parachute Regiment.’

  ‘And?’ said Phillips, already losing her patience.

  ‘Zero, Guv. They only allowed females into the elite forces in the last year or so, so when Baker saw active duty, it was male paratroopers only. However, women have served alongside men for decades as combat medics, in particular during the second Iraq war and in Afghanistan. And in Baker’s case, having completed multiple tours alongside his unit, three female combat medics stand out. One is deceased, which narrows it down to two: The first is Caroline Fletcher. She has been living in Aberdeen since she left the military in 2011. She now works as an accountant, is married and with two kids.’

  ‘And the other?’ asked Phillips, praying the second was a better match.

  ‘Much more promising, Guv. Her name’s Michelle Spencer, a retired medic who lives in Salford. She has a criminal record for ABH, and is between jobs at the moment.’

  ‘That’s her! It has to be,’ said Phillips, feeling a rush of excitement. ‘What’s her address?’

  Entwistle tapped into his laptop on the other end of the phone for a moment. ‘Er, looks like she’s registered to pay Council Tax at 56 Gove Road in Salford. M5 5ZF.’

  ‘Right. Meet us there in twenty minutes.’

  ‘Consider it done, Guv.’

  43

  Thirty minutes later, Phillips, Jones and Entwistle stood behind the uniformed team once more as they waited to go into Spencer’s home. Phillips gave them the green light and, following more deafening thuds, the team rushed in through the broken door.

  Inside, on the doormat, was a multitude of takeaway menus, a few direct mail flyers and a number of letters addressed to Spencer.

  After a few minutes, each room was declared clear. Based on even a cursory inspection, it was evident Michelle Spencer no longer lived at this address.

  Phillips, Jones and Entwistle took a room each and worked their way through the small two-bedroom council house, looking for any signs of life. After ten minutes, they gathered on the first floor, at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Looks like she’s long gone, Guv,’ said Entwistle.

  ‘Yep. And, like Baker’s gaff, it’s military clean apart from this stuff that’s been shoved through the letterbox,’ added Jones, holding the bunch of letters in his hand.

  ‘Which means it was more than likely posted after she left. Let me see those,’ said Phillips.

  Jones passed them over, and Phillips quickly scanned the letters until she found one addressed to Michelle Spencer. She checked the postmark, and noted it was dated the 28th October. ‘Looks like she left a few days before the kidnapping.’

  ‘Getting ready for the operation, Guv?’ said Jones.

  Phillips nodded, then let out a frustrated growl. ‘Yeah, but where the hell is she now?’

  At that moment, the sergeant leading the uniformed team approached. ‘We’ve checked the whole house, Ma’am. There’s no sign of anyone. But we did find a bunch of stuff that had been burnt in the garden. Not sure if it’s of any help.’

  ‘Take us to it,’ said Phillips, and a moment later she stepped out into the overgrown garden behind the sergeant, Jones and Entwistle in tow.

  ‘This is it,’ said the sergeant, standing over the charred remains on a large, blackened patch of grass.

  Phillips knelt down and, with a glov
ed index finger, gently started to separate some of the remnants of the fire. It was difficult to make out what anything was – or had been – aside from a melted laptop, which had been burnt to a cinder.

  Jones took a knee, picked up the computer and looked at Entwistle. ‘Any chance you can tell us what was on this, then?’

  Entwistle snorted. ‘Even I’m not that good, Jonesy.’

  At the edge of the burned area, something caught Phillips’s eye. A charred stub of paper, which looked as if it had been ripped up before being thrown into the fire. On it was a sequence of handwritten letters and numbers. She inspected it closely and read them aloud. ‘Four-two-nine-zero-one. Why do I recognise those numbers?’

  Jones took the piece of paper. ‘Four-two-nine-zero-one.’

  ‘They’re part of the ransom drop co-ordinates!’ Phillips exclaimed.

  Entwistle pulled out his notepad and flicked through the pages until he found what he was looking for. ‘You’re right, Guv,’ he said, and presented his notes to Phillips. ‘Sierra Kilo 1-4-2 9-0-1.’

  Phillips, Jones and Entwistle began sifting through the charred remains for any more pieces of paper.

  A few moments later, Jones found another bit of half-burnt paper with more handwritten letters and numbers, and handed it to Phillips. ‘This one says Echo Romeo Victor, then on the next line, Sierra Juliet 8.’

  ‘Echo Romeo Victor – ERV?’ asked Entwistle. ‘So what does that mean?’

  Phillips smiled. ‘In military terms, ERV stands for Emergency Rendezvous. It refers to a safe place to meet if things go tits up with an operation.’

  ‘Which is exactly what happened when Bov and I stumbled into the old workhouse,’ said Jones.

  Phillips nodded. ‘And the next line looks like the start of a grid reference. SJ 8-1. Keep looking. We need any sequence of numbers or letters that might go with them.'

  For the next fifteen minutes, the trio carefully picked apart the remnants of what had clearly been a large fire, until Entwistle spotted another section of partially burnt paper, which he handed to Phillips. ‘What about this, Guv?’