by J. D. Weston
"Go find him, Melody," said Jackson. "I'll hold them off as long as I can."
Melody sprinted into the mist to the rear of the house. The large empty pool lay like an animal trap in the poor light, and the weathered outbuildings looked sad and derelict in the glow of the fire. She caught sight of movement ahead on the tree line. It was Harvey. It was as if he was waiting for her to spot him before he disappeared into the trees.
Small branches gave way as she burst into the orchid. Lines of trees that had once been well maintained were now overgrown with plants and trees that fought for light. She stopped, looked and listened. It was silent inside the orchid. Only the faint trickle of a stream could be heard.
"I guess I owe you thanks," said Harvey.
Melody turned and found him stood beside a tree.
"No," she said. "No thanks needed."
"You saved my life again."
"You would have done the same."
"Was it Frank?"
"What makes you think that?"
"Was it Frank, Melody?"
"Yes," she said, her voice at breaking point.
"I always thought he was dirty. John confirmed it."
"Don't say that. He saved you."
"He saved himself, Melody, or tried to, at least. He was on terms with John and Terry Thomson. He knew all along who killed Julios."
"It was Frank, wasn't it?"
Harvey didn't reply.
"Are you coming easy?"
Harvey sighed audibly. "Am I being arrested?"
"It's Jackson," began Melody. "He was onto Frank. He's holding them off, so if you come quietly-"
"If I come quietly, there'll be no fuss, is that right?"
"Don't make this hard, Harvey."
"Hannah and I used to play here as kids."
"It's nice. You were lucky."
Harvey laughed. "Lucky, eh?"
"Privileged?"
"Closer, I guess. I was for a while anyway," said Harvey. "They're buried here, you know?"
Melody looked at him in the darkness. "Do you feel closure, Harvey?"
"Closure?"
"You found the answers you were looking for. Do you feel like you can rest now?"
"In prison, you mean?"
"It doesn't have to go that way, Harvey. Think of all the good things you've done with us. That has to stand for something."
"Think of all the bad things I've done along the way, Melody."
"You're not a bad person, Harvey."
Harvey didn't reply.
"Come with me. I can make sure they go easy on you."
"Take care of yourself, Melody."
A huge fireball lit the scene behind Melody as the roof of the great house caved in, and the blaze reached up for the cool air. Melody span around and watched the spectacle.
"That's the end of an era, Harvey."
Harvey didn't reply.
"There's a lot of memories going up in flames."
Harvey didn't reply.
"Harvey?"
Melody searched the darkness. The space where he had leant against the tree was empty. No movement caught her eye.
Harvey was gone.
21
Debrief
Melody stood at the head of the mess room where Frank used to stand. Reg sat on the couch where he always sat and Jackson perched on the arm of the other chair. Boon sat obediently at Melody's feet, and leaning against the wall beside the door where Harvey used to stand was the chief.
Melody glanced over to the chief and he answered her unspoken question with a gentle nod. She turned to face Reg and Jackson then sat on the edge of the table.
"Our brief was to reduce the growing violence among the territorial gangs in the East End. Namely, to bring the Albanian's spread to a halt." Melody looked up at the ceiling, unable to hold Reg's gaze for any length of time. "I think we can safely say we achieved that. Luan Duri is down, and most of his men are either dead or on the run. Many are believed to have escaped the UK borders." She turned to the chief. "We have eyes on the remainder of the Albanian firm and will make sure they do not try to spread their wings." Melody reached back and hit a key on her laptop. The large screen mounted on a mobile TV stand came to life, and Luan Duri's face appeared upon it.
The chief nodded his approval.
Melody hit the right-hand cursor on the laptop, and Bobby Bones' photo appeared. "During the operation," Melody continued, "Robert Carnell, AKA Bobby 'Bones' Carnell, was believed to have been shot dead by members of John Cartwright's firm. Dominic Fox is believed to have taken over Carnell's operations but has been pushed out to North London, Highbury, to be precise. We have eyes on him to make sure he stays there, and the profiles of all known associates have been passed on to the Organised Crime Division."
"Good, Mills," said the chief, and waited for her to continue.
"Now, let's move onto John Cartwright, father of Donald Cartwright, who was recently killed in a human trafficking operation. John has been on the watch list of the Organised Crime Division and its predecessor organisations such as SO10 and SOCA for more than forty years. He was taken down by the very man that kept him out of our reach, the same man that diverted our attention and ensured that John Cartwright's very existence was in the shadows." Melody hit the right-hand arrow on the laptop's keyboard one last time and Reg gasped at the image.
"Frank Carver has been under surveillance of the Organised Crime Division and internal affairs for two years." Melody paused to allow her throat to open itself and for her emotions to calm. She took a deep breath. "Frank Carver was guilty of perverting the course of justice and was responsible for at least one murder." She paused. "Edgar Parrish, AKA Julios." Melody stared directly at Reg who sat aghast at the news. "I recently received confirmation that Carver was the killer."
Melody turned back to the chief. "I'd call this operation a huge success."
Reg began a small clap at Melody's debrief. It was in jest, but Jackson joined in, and the chief added three small claps before pushing himself off the wall. Reg and Jackson stopped and stood. Boon walked beside them as they left the room. As Melody stepped in behind them, the chief held his hand out to stop her.
"Stay, Mills. There's something I'd like to discuss."
22
Beach
Harvey Stone lay on the edge of a long golden beach in the small town of Argelles in the south of France. The empty beach stretched out before him, and long grass blew in the soft breeze behind him. It was midday and the heat was at its peak. He lay with a book by his side, closed neatly with a ten-euro note to mark the page. His eyes were closed to the bright sun but its rays brought life to his skin, and the soft, cool breeze cleansed his body of old memories.
He felt the sun fall into shadow on his eyelids.
"You're in my light."
"I am the light."
"Are you? Any danger you could shine somewhere else?"
"You're a hard man to find," said the woman.
"I'm not exactly hiding."
"I followed you all the way from Essex."
"I wasn't exactly running either."
Harvey felt the woman step around him then watched her in his mind as she stood gazing out to sea.
"How do we do this, Harvey?"
"How do we do what? It's the end, isn't it?"
"It doesn't have to be."
Harvey didn't reply.
"I could use a man like you."
"Someone who doesn't mind getting his hands dirty?"
"Among other things."
"I thought they were already dirty? Are you bringing me in?"
"Not necessarily."
Harvey opened his eyes and craned his neck forward to see Melody stood silhouetted by the sun. Her hair blew softly in the breeze and rested on her shoulders, and her short leather jacket flapped against her side.
"Two choices," she said.
"Let me guess, one bad, one worse."
"I wouldn't say that."
"Well, what then? I
'm a busy man, can't you see?"
"First choice, you come back to London with me. The chief offered me Frank's job. I can have you cleared as an operative, you know."
"I'd report to you?"
"You always did, really."
"Second choice?"
Melody dropped slowly to her knees, leaned forward onto all fours and crawled up Harvey's body. Her eyes fixed on Harvey's. She stopped inches from his face.
"This," she said, and kissed him.
Harvey didn't reply.
End of Book Stuff
Stone Free - Chapter One
When Angie Turvey turned on the lights and laid eyes on her dead neighbour, who hung from Angie’s living room wall with six-inch nails through her wrists and ankles, Angie knew her life was about to change forever.
Emirates flight EK5110 landed at Dubai International Airport at twelve thirty in the morning. Among the business class passengers were Angie Turvey and her eight-year-old daughter, Anya. Angie held her daughter close as they made their way past the flight crew and onto the gangway. She pulled her Louis Vuitton carry-on case behind her, and her daughter pulled her own small bag beside her. The girl’s little, pink carry-on contained only a stuffed dog that resembled her own Yorkshire Terrier in London, some colouring books and pens, plus a photo of her with Mickey Mouse and her mum and dad at Disney World. The photo was in a small, wooden frame with the cartoon mouse on the top right corner. Her father had placed it in there without her knowing to keep beside her bed in the family’s Dubai villa. He wanted to remind his daughter that he wasn’t far away, and even though couldn’t join them on this particular trip, he was thinking of them both.
The chauffeur-driven limousine doors locked automatically with a reassuring, soft click as the car began to move, and the child lay her head on her mother's lap to sleep.
“No, baby, we need to get home,” said Angie. “If you sleep now, I’ll have to carry you, and I have the cases to carry too.”
“I will help you, ma’am,” said the driver, with a glance in his rear-view mirror.
“Thank you, sir, but that won’t be necessary.” She nudged her daughter. “Why don’t you tell me what we’re going to do on our first day of our holiday, Anya? We’re nearly home.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes, what would you like to do first?”
“Can we play in the sea?”
“Of course we can. Maybe we can have pancakes and then lay on the beach for a while. Would you like that?”
Anya nodded. “Can we also play in the swimming pool?”
The mother took a sharp breath in. “You want to play in the pool, and the sea?”
Anya nodded and gave a little giggle. “Yes, and I want juice with ice.”
“Please?”
“Please.”
“That’s better. I asked Julie to stop by and drop off some basics, so we should be able to make breakfast. But we’ll need to go shopping at some point, okay?”
“Shopping?”
“Yes, Anya, we need to buy food for the holiday.”
“Okay, but after swimming?”
“Of course. We’ll have a nice morning then we’ll go buy some food, and if you’re a good girl, you know what I’ll get you?”
“What, Mummy?”
“Ice cream.”
The girl beamed up at her mum and looked out of the car window.
“But you have to stay awake for another ten minutes, okay?”
“Okay, Mummy.”
The Mercedes pulled up outside the villa on Frond H of Dubai’s prestigious Palm Jumeirah. There was a double garage which contained two cars, a blue Porsche that her husband drove when he was in Dubai, and a larger BMW SUV that was big enough for the whole family, plus shopping and luggage.
“There we go, that wasn’t so bad was it?” said Angie as she opened her door. “You‘ll be in bed in just a few minutes.”
The driver walked to the rear of the vehicle to extract the cases, while the mother helped her daughter from the car. She tipped the driver one hundred dirhams and watched as he pulled away. The street was quiet. Each frond of the man-made, palm-shaped island had security at the entrance. The security guards allowed only residents and named guests to enter. The tight security had been one of the features that swayed her and her husband to take the villa. It also limited the amount of traffic on the narrow roads.
There were only fifty villas on each frond, and most of their neighbours were never around. Julie, who lived in the house next door was the only nearby permanent resident. The house on the other side of the Turvey house was rented to holiday makers, and during the cooler winter months, had a variety of people coming and going.
The mother dragged the large case, and the smaller carry-on, while her daughter pulled her own little bag to the front entrance. The large wooden door swung open, and she noticed that Julie had left the lights and the air-conditioning on for her. She made a mental note to thank her for the gesture.
She closed the door behind her and put the cases down. “Right then, Anya, how about you get off to bed? Do you want me to come tuck you in?”
Anya nodded and pulled her stuffed dog from the little carry-on.
“Okay, well go get changed, and I’ll be up in a sec, okay?”
“On my own?”
“You want me to come with you?”
“It’s dark up there.”
“Okay, well come on then. I’ll come and turn the lights on, but you have to go straight to bed, okay?”
She settled Anya into bed and stroked her hair until she fell asleep then closed the bedroom door behind her, and walked down the stairs, hoping that Julie had left a bottle of wine in the fridge.
The stairwell took her back down to the large hallway where her cases were. She left them there and walked towards the rear of the house to the kitchen, which was halfway along the hallway on the right-hand side. She found a bottle of Pinot Grigio in the fridge, silently thanked Julie, and poured herself a glass.
The housekeeper had been recently and cleaned the kitchen, so she relaxed, leaned against the hidden fridge, and took a long tired glance around the immaculate kitchen with its Carrara marble surfaces, and top of the range appliances. They’d done very well. Her husband had taken promotion after promotion, and they had been able to afford a modestly luxurious lifestyle, but she smiled at the fact that she still preferred to drink cheap wine from her crystal glasses.
She shoved off and walked out into the hallway, turning right into the huge lounge and dining area at the very back of the huge, five-bedroom villa.
Angie kicked off her designer boots and reached for the light switches on the wall to her right.
The first switch lit the chandelier above the twelve-seater, lignum vitae dining table in the dining area to her left. The second switch powered the ceiling-mounted spots that were spaced equidistantly around the edge of the room, and on one wall, lit the large, three-meter square oil painting by contemporary artist Leonard Afremov.
On the opposite side of the living room, the spots lit the naked and broken body of Julie.
Her head hung limply, and her wide eyes stared as if she’d died in fright. But the blood spatters on her skin, and the bruises on her face told Angie that Julie had put up a hard fight, and lost. She’d either bled to death or died of internal injuries.
The crystal glass smashed on the tiled floor.
Anya suddenly began to scream from her room.
Then from behind her came a chilling, gravelly voice.
“Welcome home, Mrs Turvey.”
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Also By J.D.Weston.
The Stone Cold Thriller Series.
Book 1 - Stone Cold.
Book 2 - Stone Fury
Book 3 - Stone Fall
Book 4 - Stone Rage
Book 5 - Stone Free
Book 6 - Stone Rush
Novellas
Stone Breed
Stone Blood
The Alaskan Adventure
Where the Mountains Kiss the Sun
From the Ocean to the Stream
.
A Note from the Author
The Stone Cold Thriller series is set in East London and Essex and features places from my own childhood.
While many of the buildings, pubs and streets are fictitious, some of the more prominent locations in the series are borne from my own life experience and are as accurate as my memory allows.
