Shadow Line

by Stephen Edger

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Detective Inspector Vincent, you’re a hard man to track down.’

  Vincent recognised the voice immediately.

  ‘Terry? How do you know where I am?’

  ‘Well I had assumed you would be staying in the hospital for a day or so longer but have been monitoring your credit card activity and saw a new charge just added for a hotel in the city. I simply phoned the hotel and asked to be put through to you.’

  ‘What gives you the fucking right to monitor my credit card activity?’ Vincent bellowed into the phone.

  ‘Are you okay, Jack?’ the voice replied cautiously. ‘You sound tense.’

  ‘I’m not tense; I’m angry. Just who do you think you are?’

  ‘I’m a friend, Jack. I’ve told you that since the beginning of all this. I merely want to help you get the bastards who blew up your flat and have caused so much pain in the city for so long...’

  ‘You’re just a friend?’ Vincent interrupted. ‘A friend wouldn’t allow me to return to a flat where a bomb was set to detonate. A friend wouldn’t phone me at odd hours, drip-feeding me information pertinent to an open investigation. A friend would meet me face to face, instead of hiding behind a cloak of secrecy.’

  ‘I warned you to watch your back, Jack. How was I to know that they would plant a bomb in your flat? I would have thought you would have better counter-measures to stop intruders. You are a policeman after all. I mean, no burglar alarm?’

  ‘I’m hanging up,’ Vincent threatened, not prepared to play games anymore.

  ‘Don’t hang up, Jack!’ the voice urged. ‘Don’t you want to catch them? To put a stop to all this? You’re the only one who can.’

  ‘Who are you, Terry? Hmm? Tell me that much, because at the moment you’re just some stranger who could be winding me up. I don’t have the time, nor the inclination, to put up with your stupid riddles. Just tell me who you are.’

  ‘I told you, Jack, I am not important. I am merely someone helping you along.’

  ‘But who are you?’ Vincent shouted into the phone.

  ‘I’m a friend to justice,’ the voice replied, causing Vincent to slam the phone back down.

  The phone rang immediately after but Vincent refused to answer it. It rang a second, then a third, then a fourth time. Still he ignored it. On the tenth consecutive ring, he answered it again.

  ‘What?’ he barked. ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘I want you to solve this case, to pull together the evidence that will see them locked up forever,’ the voice pleaded.

  ‘Why me, Terry? Why don’t you do it yourself? You seem to know all about what is going on. Why don’t you collate the evidence and bring the case to the C.P.S.? Why does it have to be me?’

  ‘I can’t do it, Jack. I’m not a policeman.’

  ‘Okay, so what about taking it to another police officer, I mean there’s several thousand of us out there, why does it have to be me?’

  ‘Calm down, Jack. I am not the enemy. You should be thanking me for the help, not questioning my motives.’

  ‘Oh really? Put yourself in my shoes, for a minute, won’t you? Would you believe a mystery caller?’

  ‘I would if what they were telling me was the truth and would help me break an important case.’

  ‘Why should I listen to you? How do I know that you are feeding me useful intelligence? I mean, how do you even know all these things? You seem to know a lot about my cases, more than is in the public domain. Just how do you know if you’re not involved somehow?’

  ‘Haven’t you worked it out yet, Jack? How this is all connected?’

  ‘Sure I have: Nikolai Stratovsky. He is the key to this, right? He is the fiend that links my cases. But why? What is it to do with you? Are you a former disgruntled employee? Or perhaps you are a rival, looking to step in and take over his empire?’

  ‘I am an interested party who wants to see justice served.’

  ‘Bull shit!’ bellowed Vincent. ‘What are you not telling me? Why are you sitting on the edges overseeing everything? Why aren’t you stepping forward to see justice served?’

  ‘Look,’ said the voice trying to placate him. ‘They’re after me too, okay? And my son. They will not be happy until all this has gone away. Stratovsky is a powerful man with a lot of connections in a lot of high places.’

  ‘After you, how?’ asked Vincent calming down slightly.

  ‘As we speak, there are men hunting me down, with one order: execution. I am in hiding and my only contacts with the outside world are you and my son. I am taking a huge chance just talking to you. If they discover my location, I am a dead man. Not just that, they will torture me first, to find out everything I know. This case is bigger than you could ever imagine, so don’t think for a minute that you are the only one with your neck on the block!’

  The voice on the phone seemed to realise he was now shouting and apologised to Vincent.

  ‘Jack, you have to listen to what I am telling you; I am a friend to you. I am trying to help your case, not hinder it. You must believe me.’

  ‘Why do they want you dead?’ Vincent asked. ‘What is your involvement in all this?’

  The voice stayed quiet for a moment while he considered whether he should share more information.

  ‘Let’s just say I made a mistake a couple of years ago, a mistake that brought me to their attention and ever since I have been on the run from them. The C.P.S. cases that you have helped bring against them is the first chink in their armour that we have seen. It is vital that the opportunity to bring them down is seized.’

  ‘And if I walk away and ignore you? What then?’

  ‘Then two very bad men get away with their crimes. Correct me if I am wrong, you swore an oath to serve the public and bring criminals to book? You cannot turn your back, Jack.’

  ‘I’m still not convinced,’ Vincent stated calmly. ‘I don’t know why I should believe you.’

  ‘Okay,’ the voice sighed. ‘Okay. I think there is someone you should meet; someone who will be able to pull it all together for you.’

  ‘Who is this person?’

  ‘Can you meet somewhere in an hour or so?’ the voice asked ignoring the question.

  ‘Look,’ Vincent chuckled sarcastically, ‘if you think I’m going to meet your friend down a dark alley somewhere and get myself killed, you’ve got another thing coming.’

  ‘How many times, Jack? I mean you no harm. I need you alive if Stratovsky is going to get what is coming to him. Get yourself to the Bargate at midnight tonight and I will instruct my colleague to meet you there; he will explain everything, I promise.’

  The line went dead before Vincent could argue anymore. He glanced at the clock display on the phone; it was nearly ten o’clock.

  SATURDAY

  36

  It was one minute past twelve. The city centre had the usual bar-hoppers and club dwellers wandering along the pavement from one venue to the next. The Bargate is a structure in the middle of Southampton’s High Street that resembles the entrance to a castle, with a large carriageway through the centre and additional doorways either side. It was constructed in the twelfth century and had undergone numerous alterations in the years since, now with an informal art gallery on its second storey. The building still formed part of the city’s old town walled ruins. There was something quite haunting about the structure as Vincent stood, shivering slightly in the cool breeze.

  After the line had disconnected in the hotel room, he had weighed up the pros and cons of attending the proposed meeting and, even though he had initially been reticent, curiosity had eventually got the better of him and he had headed out, checking with the student on reception that the doors would still be open upon his return. The student had looked at him quizzically before advising that the doors would be closed at two a.m. This would be more than adequate, he had assumed, but had been quick to leave a note with the student for the attention of Southampton Police, detailing where he h
ad gone and the purpose of the meeting, so that in the event his body was discovered, the authorities would understand why. With no mobile phone and no means of purchasing one at this late hour, he had never felt so isolated. His own mobile had been destroyed in the explosion by all accounts.

  He was busy trying to memorise the faces of those wandering by so that he would be able to spot anyone who walked by more than once but so far, all the faces looked different. He glanced at his watch again, and was beginning to wonder what kind of a wild goose chase he was being led on when a young girl stumbled towards him. She certainly looked like she was having a good night.

  ‘Have you got a light, mate?’ she slurred, as she moved closer, putting a cigarette ungracefully to her lips.

  ‘I don’t smoke, sorry,’ he replied quickly before beginning to wonder whether this girl was his contact. He hoped not, given that she was wearing nothing more than the smallest of t-shirts and hot pants.

  The puzzled look on her face suggested this was not the response she had expected.

  ‘Are you Jack?’ she then asked, no more sober than with her first question.

  ‘Who wants to know?’ he replied cautiously.

  ‘I have a message for you, Jack,’ she replied grinning and swaying slightly.

  ‘Do you work for Terry?’

  Again, the slow and puzzled look returned to her face.

  ‘Who’s Terry?’

  He deduced she probably wasn’t the contact he was due to meet and glanced around to see if anybody was watching them. A small group, two guys and a girl, were standing about twenty feet away, obviously the group she was partying with.

  ‘What’s the message?’ he asked as she continued to sway.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ she smiled, remembering why she had come over. ‘Your friend said he will meet you outside the Welly.’ She smiled again, proud that she had completed her mission.

  ‘That makes no sense. Who told you to speak to me?’

  She looked around, trying to spot the man who, moments earlier, had slipped her a fifty pound note and asked her to speak with the man by the Bargate. Not seeing him, she returned her gaze to Vincent.

  ‘I don’t know. Some guy. He was cute, if you know what I mean.’

  Vincent wanted to arrest her on the spot for being drunk and disorderly but knew he didn’t have the patience or the time to waste. Instead, he grabbed her arms and shook her slightly, trying to get her focus. The act was a foolish one as the three onlookers rushed over to see why he was assaulting their friend. One of the men wrapped his big arms around Vincent and dragged him back. The pain this grip caused around his stitches forced Vincent to release the girl.

  ‘You want to watch your step mate!’ the brute whispered into his ear.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he winced. ‘I just need to know what message she has for me.’

  ‘Shall I thump him?’ the brute then asked the girl who had now returned to her female friend.

  ‘No, it’s alright, Jase,’ she replied, making hurt eyes in Vincent’s direction. ‘The man said you should meet him by the Duke of Wellington pub. He gave me fifty quid to tell you.’ She rubbed her head, the onset of a drunken headache forming above her eyes. ‘Let him go, Jase,’ she added.

  The brute released his grip and the four wandered off in the direction of the town’s quay. Vincent rubbed gingerly at his wound and hoped that no further damage had been caused. He didn’t like being messed about, and now having to meet in a new location did not put him in a good mood. The Duke of Wellington pub was located along the town wall walk, and would undoubtedly be closed up for the night by this time, but it would be farther out of prying eyes than the Bargate.

  He checked again that nobody was watching him and then he headed off in the direction of the pub. As he had suspected, all the lights were off inside the building from what he could tell, but he tried opening the door nonetheless. It clicked but would not budge. He looked around for more messages, half expecting to find a note telling him to walk somewhere else. Finding no such notes he was about to turn and head back in the direction of his hotel when a male voice spoke.

  ‘Vincent?’ it said, sending a shiver down his spine.

  He turned in the direction of the voice, and it was only then that he spotted a shadowy figure on a small bench to the side of the pub. He tried to look for familiar features but it was too dark to distinguish what the man looked like. The figure stood up and moved forward. As he did, his appearance was illuminated gradually by the orange glow of the street light above Vincent’s head. The man’s face was not obvious until they were some three feet apart.

  ‘Baines?’ Vincent whispered, not quite believing his eyes. ‘But you’re…’

  ‘Dead? I am…kind of. Come and sit down,’ the figure continued, indicating over to the bench, ‘there’s a lot I should explain.’

  Before he could finish talking, Vincent swung his arm around and connected with Mark’s nose. The man fell to the floor, the sudden force of the blow catching him unawares. Vincent also gasped as a sharp pain shot up his right arm and he felt a further pull on his stitches. Mark Baines slowly stood back up, running a finger under his nose to check for blood.

  ‘I probably deserved that,’ he admitted. ‘Please, before you hit me again, let me explain what is going on? I’ve got a flask of coffee. Listen to what I have to say, and if you’re still not happy, you can hit me again.’

  Vincent nodded his compliance, keen to sit down and allow his body to recover from the sudden exertion. They made their way over to the bench and Mark held up the small metallic flask, passing it to him. He accepted it and unscrewed the lid before taking a sip. The subtle taste of brandy mixed with the coffee as he swallowed caused him to cough.

  ‘Just a little something to keep the cold out,’ Mark smiled, taking the flask and drinking a shot himself.

  ‘You died,’ Vincent stated when the flask had been placed on the floor.

  ‘Well clearly I didn’t,’ Mark replied. ‘It’s true I was in a car that went over the side of the Northam Bridge, but the fall didn’t kill us. We managed to get out of the vehicle and hid out of sight in a small fishing boat until it was dark and then we were taken into care by some friends.’

  ‘Wait a minute; three bodies were pulled from the river the next morning. The dental records were examined and the three men were confirmed as Mark Baines, Guy Baines and Lai Chi Keung, an associate of your father. I read the coroner’s report! You were dead. D.N.A. tests confirmed it too.’

  ‘My father was a well-connected man. He contacted a couple of friends at M.I.5 who were able to find three recently deceased people matching our descriptions and switched our records with theirs. They agreed to take us into protective custody in exchange for our testimony when the time was right. We laid low for about a week and were then presented with new identities and were flown privately to a tropical country where we have lived ever since.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that, Vincent; it wouldn’t be safe for either of us if you knew.’

  ‘It’s been a year…’

  ‘I know, I know. I’ve been doing some work for the British government in my new life. It’s okay really. I don’t have to worry about any bills particularly. I perform my daily duties for them and then relax in the sunshine. I could have had a worse ending.’

  ‘So what are you doing back here? Why come out of hiding now?’

  ‘Well,’ he began cautiously, ‘it was decided that now was the right time for me to testify. The trial against Victor Stratovsky was struggling; every witness that came forward to speak against him either retracted their testimony or ended up dead. In a desperate move to secure his incarceration, the Security Services volunteered to put me on the stand and to tell my story. I was supposed to testify in secret: I would have been based in an undisclosed location and my testimony was to be beamed into the courtroom for only a select few to hear. The defence were to have the opportunity to cross examine me too but my where
abouts would remain unknown. It was all going to plan, but then the C.P.S. lost another key witness and it is now uncertain whether the trial will continue.’

  ‘And where does that leave you?’

  ‘I don’t know really. I was in protection because of what I knew…if I am no longer needed, I don’t know what that means for me or my father.’

  ‘Is your father in the UK too?’

  ‘No, he’s still abroad: in hiding. There have already been attempts on his life in the last week, so I need to see this thing through.’

  A thought struck Vincent, ‘Your dad is Terry, right?’

  Mark laughed, ‘It still amuses me to think of him as Terry instead of Guy. Takes some getting used to changing your name, you know?’

  ‘So what do I call you?’

  ‘You can call me Mark or Sam; it’s up to you. It’s a lot to get your head around so go with what feels right.’

  Vincent’s hands moved quick-as-a-flash; one hand restraining Mark’ wrists, the other patting down his coat, looking for a mobile phone.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ he asked, confused.

  ‘I am placing you under arrest. You are an escaped convict and I don’t care what promises the government have made you; I am not governed by them. You broke out of Belmarsh prison on Christmas Day and then broke into the headquarters building of General Financial a week later. You still need to serve time for the murder of the elderly couple you butchered in Chilworth and for laundering two hundred and fifty million pounds. I am taking you in.’

  Mark laughed out loud and lurched forward, his head crashing into the bridge of Vincent’s nose, the jolt causing the detective to lose his grip on Mark’s wrists. Mark pushed Vincent back and hard against the wooden bench.

  ‘I don’t think so, Vincent,’ he said defiantly. ‘I told you at the time, and I will tell you one last time: I was blackmailed into transferring that money and I had nothing to do with the death of those people. I was innocent then and I am innocent now! I came to meet you to help you take Stratovsky down, but Ali was right about you: you’re an ignorant prat!’