by Iain Cameron
When Henderson reached the dip, he realised there wasn’t a fence, but due to a combination of a passing train and the general difficulty of crossing train tracks, Henderson was much closer to Khouri than he had been. He was close enough to shout, but decided to save his breath until he had closed the gap still further.
Away from the trains, they were now travelling along a country road and, surprise, surprise, it was Khouri who was starting to tire, not the DI. Clearly, what he’d eaten of his avo and toast breakfast was not good preparation for a long run. They approached what looked to Henderson like a disused industrial site and, without stopping, Khouri nipped through a gap in the fence.
It was clear to Henderson that Khouri knew what he was doing: how else would he know about the hole in the fence? The place looked like an abandoned brickworks, and had been closed for a decade or more, as many of the buildings were dilapidated and any remaining machinery was thick with rust.
Henderson moved to the cover of a hut, pulled out his radio and told the rest of the team where he was located. He put his radio away and set off after Khouri. His plan was to corner the surgeon and when the armed unit arrived they could overpower him. If the DI simply stayed behind the hut and waited for reinforcements to arrive, they would have no idea where Khouri would be and could spend the next few hours looking for him only to find he had already made his escape.
He knew he was right about this being a brickworks, as he could tell from the shape of the buildings, the red dust under his feet, and the debris lying around, but there wasn’t a single brick to be found. He imagined local builders would have visited the site long ago and picked over the carcass as effectively as a vulture would do with a dead sheep.
The yard consisted of one very large building with a tall chimney, presumably the brickworks itself; a series of smaller buildings, many with their roofs caved in, looking like storage areas, and one low building in reasonable condition, considering its age, the offices.
He was unsure if Khouri had taken a left into the large building, or a right among the ruins of the storage buildings. He was about to investigate the large place when a shot rang out, emanating from the DI’s right. It was dangerously close, suggesting Khouri had a better view of him than the other way round.
Henderson pulled out his gun and ducked down, keeping himself in the shade as he made his way past the storage buildings, taking special care when he came to openings, at what used to be windows or where a fissure had opened up due to movement of the structure. Through one of those he saw Khouri, but one moment he was there, and the next he was gone.
Approaching another fissure, Henderson was distracted by a movement: it was a bird, but when he looked back, a leg shot out and kicked the gun out of his hand. Not waiting for Khouri to appear and point his pistol at him, he launched himself at the surgeon. Henderson punched him in the face and they both fell into the dirt and detritus lying on the ground. Henderson wasn’t sure, but he thought Khouri’s gun skidded away.
Khouri punched Henderson on the side of the head but when Henderson went to smack him again, a hard blow struck his solar plexus and knocked the wind out of him. He doubled up, and due to the distraction and lessening his grip, Khouri squirmed away.
It took Henderson a few seconds to recover; when he did, he looked up: Khouri had a weapon trained on him.
‘Think you can get the better of me, copper? Nobody does that.’
‘Give it up, Khouri. How far are you going to get with no money and no car?’
‘You don’t think I’ve thought of that?’
‘Have you?’
‘You underestimate me, as many other people have done to their cost. Of course I have. Money, and any documents that I might need, are deposited in a safe place. I knew this day would come at some point.’
‘Put the gun down!’
Henderson turned at the same time Khouri did. DS Walters was standing there, her gun trained on Khouri. Almost in slow motion, Khouri’s gun moved from pointing at Henderson, and swung round to aim at the detective sergeant.
Henderson launched himself at the surgeon. From his low position, he executed a perfect rugby tackle, catching his opponent around the midriff and dropping him to the ground. The gun in his hand fired.
This time, Henderson wasn’t letting go and punched Khouri repeatedly until he stopped struggling. Walters came running over and before Khouri could rally his resources and respond, Henderson grabbed the gun and held him still while Walters applied the cuffs.
‘That shot, it didn’t come near you?’ Henderson asked.
‘Nah, it hit a piece a wood above me, I had to jump out of the way as it came crashing down.’
‘What happened to the ARU?’
‘A train’s broken down at Plumpton Station, the road’s blocked.’
FORTY-EIGHT
‘Following a major police operation today at Golding’s Farm in Plumpton,’ Henderson said, ‘an armed suspect has been arrested and his hostage released unharmed. No police officers were injured in this operation. The arrested man has been charged with firearm offences, kidnap with intent to endanger the lives of two individuals, and the murder of two Brighton lawyers, Martin Turner and Alex Vincent.’
This provoked a tsunami of voices and questions from the journalists in the packed conference room, and Henderson suspected no one heard the next bit.
‘Thank you, Detective Inspector Henderson,’ DCI Houghton said beside him. ‘If I can now open this press conference to some questions?’
Henderson and Houghton walked out twenty minutes later, the room still buzzing with excitement, some of the many questions asked by journalists remaining unanswered.
‘I thought it went well,’ Houghton said, turning off the television in his office, the pair of them like two actors viewing the first broadcast of their latest play.
‘It did,’ Henderson said. ‘Although I would have preferred the camera to be on my right side, I think my profile looks better from there.’
‘Ha,’ Houghton said, walking over to a cabinet and retrieving a bottle of whisky. ‘Is it too early for you, Angus?’
Henderson didn’t need to look at his watch. ‘It’s never too early.’
Houghton handed him a glass and they both clinked. ‘Here’s to a successful operation and no further loss of life.’
‘I’ll second that. Cheers.’
‘It could all have ended so differently,’ Houghton said. ‘If he’d made a move to shoot the hostage, or God forbid, actually shot her, you would have had no option but to shoot him.’
‘Aye,’ he said over the rim of his glass, ‘at times like this we’re operating on such slim margins.’
‘Even though it doesn’t seem like it, I do think the press know and appreciate it. I was talking to a journalist before the press conference who said as much. If he was in a room with a man holding a gun, he said, he wouldn’t be able to speak or stand for his knees shaking.’
‘Let’s hope he puts something similar in his article so his readers can understand the dangers we face, all in the interests of public safety. Khouri seemed to be so unhinged, I didn’t know if he would take a pop at us or shoot the woman.’
‘At least the case against him is sound.’
Henderson nodded. ‘Aside from the offences committed at Golding’s Farm and at the abandoned brickworks, we’ve got the knife used to kill Martin Turner and the forensic data from the cottage where he held Trevor Robinson.’
‘What about Alex Vincent? I’m a little unclear on his motive for that one.’
‘From what’s been appearing in newspapers so far, you would think all the things he did were in connection with the long-running vendetta between him and Raymond Schofield.’
‘They weren’t?’
‘In part, but it’s clear from the interviews we’ve conducted with him so far, behind it all was his desire to strike out at anyone who would do damage to his business and reputation. Schofield tried it, and we now see the results of the
ir well-publicised feud. However, his main motivation for breaking into the offices of Jonas Baines was to remove a Medical Litigation case file raised by a lady called Lesley Fisk.’
Henderson took a sip of whisky before continuing.
‘Lesley’s a twenty-five-year-old lingerie model who claimed her career was ruined when Khouri botched up her lip enhancing and boob job. He made her lips pout, which she didn’t want, and left visible scars under her boobs. Her grievances might have stopped there, if she didn’t have an allergic reaction to the boob-filling material which left her in a coma.’
‘Good lord.’
‘She claimed she had told Khouri about her allergies, and in her file there were medical reports, expert statements, and photographs, most of which are irreplaceable. Jonas Baines say their removal from the file killed the case stone-dead. While Khouri was in the Jonas Baines offices, he decided to make a little mischief by going into Alex Vincent’s office and removing several items from Rebecca Schofield’s divorce file.’
‘Where did he get the security badge?’ Houghton asked.
‘From Trevor Robinson, one night in a casino. Robinson rarely wore his work suit when gambling, but one time he did and Khouri removed it while he was in the toilet.’
‘What did he take from Rebecca Schofield’s divorce file?’
‘His original plan was to plant some of the stolen documents in Schofield’s house, thereby implicating him in the break-in. He jettisoned the idea when he realised a housekeeper also lived in Schofield’s house. Instead, he resolved to use some of the more incriminating parts to shame Schofield on social media, and slow down the divorce process to make him suffer more.’
‘Martin Turner’s death was what, in the wrong place at the wrong time?’
‘It seems so.’
‘Khouri’s a strange fish,’ Houghton said. ‘I wouldn’t put him in the Broadmoor category, as he’s intelligent and engaging, but it’s like a part of his brain is given over to criminality.’
‘In a way, you can understand his no-holds-barred approach when you understand his background. He’d arrived in the UK at the age of eleven to live with his uncle after his parents were killed in a terrorist bomb blast. He attended a state school; but he was bright and everything he achieved and owned was down to his own efforts.’
Henderson took a drink; it was nice whisky.
‘We have enough to put him away for a very long time without it, but for the sake of Vincent’s wife, we’ll do our best to gain a conviction for his murder as well. The CCTV, as you know, isn’t conclusive, but Khouri told us he was fearful of Vincent calling in the auditors, which is where he was headed the day he was waiting for the train. Khouri knew this as Trevor Robinson had inadvertently revealed what Vincent was planning during one of their casino chats. He feared it, as their work would have exposed the true purpose of his break-in.’
‘Why bother? Medical Litigation would have discovered its absence in the end.’
He shook his head. ‘Maybe not, as the trial wasn’t scheduled to be held until the following year. By then, Khouri would have seen Schofield convicted of murder, although for the killing of Allan Blake and not Martin Turner as he tried to engineer, and the trail of his theft would have gone cold.’
‘He would have been home and dry if it wasn’t for his rashness at raiding the divorce file and trying to put one over on Schofield,’ Houghton said.
‘Aye, and if it wasn’t for the irresponsible, although some would say, heroic actions of Trevor Robinson, he would have got away with murder.’
‘On such small margins, right enough. Another?’ Houghton asked, holding up his empty glass.
‘I don’t mind if I do.’
The End
About the Author
Iain Cameron was born in Glasgow and moved to Brighton in the early eighties. He has worked as a management accountant, business consultant and a nursery goods retailer. He is now a full-time writer and lives in a village outside Horsham in West Sussex with his wife, two daughters and a lively Collie dog.
Dying for Justice is the tenth book to feature DI Angus Henderson, the Scottish cop at Sussex Police.
For more information about books and the author:
Visit the website at: www.iain-cameron.com
Follow him on Twitter: @iainsbooks
Follow him on Facebook @iaincameronauthor
Acknowledgments
On the occasion of the publication of the tenth book in the DI Henderson series, I’d like to take the opportunity to thank all those people without whom I would never have made it.
Peter O’Connor at bespokebookcovers.com has been designing brilliant books covers for me since the beginning and has always been a pleasure to work with.
My editorial team of Zoe Markham, Vari Cameron, and the Advance Reader Team do a fantastic job reshaping my often rambling words into something coherent.
Last, but not least, I would like to thank my readers, many of whom have been here since Book 1, and others who have now got ten books to keep them occupied.
Also by Iain Cameron
DI Angus Henderson Crime Novels
One Last Lesson
The body of a popular university student is found on a golf course. DI Angus Henderson hasn’t a clue as the killer did a thorough job. That is, until he discovers she was once a model on an adult web site run by two of her tutors.
Driving into Darkness
A gang of car thieves are smashing down doors and stealing the keys of expensive cars. Their violence is escalating and the DI is fearful they will soon kill someone. They do, but the DI suspects it might be cover for something else.
Fear the Silence
A missing woman is not what DI Henderson needs right now. She is none other than Kelly Langton, once the glamour model 'Kelly,' and now an astute businesswoman. The investigation focuses on her husband, but then another woman goes missing.
Hunting for Crows
A man’s body is recovered from the swollen River Arun, drowned in a vain attempt to save his dog. The story interests DI Henderson as the man was once a member of a rock band he liked. When another band member dies, exercising in his home gym, Henderson can no longer ignore the coincidence.
Red Red Wine
A ruthless gang of wine fakers have already killed one man and will stop at nothing to protect a lucrative trade making them millions. Henderson suspects a London gangster, Daniel Perry, is behind the gang. He knows to tread carefully, but no one warned him to safeguard those closest to him.
Night of Fire
A body is discovered in a warehouse, burned to death. The victim was a member of a Lewes Bonfire Society, and with Bonfire Night approaching, DI Henderson is in a race to find out if rivalry between the competing Societies was behind it.
Girls on Film
A photographer is abducted from her rural studio. DI Henderson finds several witnesses, but no motive. He’s convinced the answer lies in the photographer’s busy lifestyle: previous boyfriends, environmental campaigning or in the photographs she took. Problem is, her back catalogue runs into millions.
Black Quarry Farm
Holidaying in a rented house at a vineyard, an innocent couple are murdered in their beds. Suspicions falls on workers at the vineyard, including the owner who counts serious criminals as friends.
Blood Marked Pages
A Brighton crime author is found stabbed to death in his home - a burglary gone wrong, or did one of his readers taken exception to something he wrote? Items scattered over the lounge suggest the killer was looking for something - but what?
Matt Flynn Thrillers
The Pulsar Files
Matt Flynn, an agent with the Homeland Security Agency, is hunting a Serbian hitman. The trail leads him to Oxford. The only incident that might have been the work of a top-notch sniper, is a hot-air balloon crash that killed all five occupants, including three members of the Anderson Family.
Deadly Intent
A dissident terr
orist group are hell-bent on starting civil war in Ireland. Alarm bells sound when it’s discovered they have purchased a large consignment of weapons from Syrian rebels. Matt Flynn and Rosie Fox of HSA are ordered to stop them.
No Time to Lose
Matt is hunting the kidnappers of David Burke, a senior MI5 man. He attacks and disables a Turkish terrorist group but another man goes missing, this time a senior detective. Matt realises the connection is him, a voice from the past that won’t let go.
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