Old Crackers

by Peter Bates

  The shocking information relating to the second young boy’s violent death brought a very rapid and sad closure to the four old friends’ brief reunion. The beers, the good company, and the light chat would have to take second place to the bad news. Each one of the retired police officers had their own grandchildren living in the area and all felt very uncomfortable, as well as deeply saddened and enraged by the information.

  “Nothing in yet about who they both are?” asked Reg, as he firmly shook hands with Terry out on the street.

  “No, mate. If nothing else comes up by the time I get home, I’ll call Norman Pendleton at the station and try to get the latest update from him. I guess he’ll be busy as hell right now, but as soon as I do track him down, I’ll do my very best to get some more information. When I have something definite to report, I’ll buzz all you lads with the latest. Make sure that all your phones are switched on.”

  “Cheers, pal. We’ll all appreciate that.”

  Walking far more briskly than usual, Terry reached home in a little less than twenty-five minutes. The odds were strongly stacked against one particular boy being one of the two dead lads, but he had a ten-year-old grandson who lived just a mile or so away, and Terry’s mind couldn’t settle, and wouldn’t do until he had all the answers that he needed. Even then, his brain would still be wracked by the monstrosity that had taken place, and what could potentially follow with such a vicious lunatic or lunatics out on the streets. Over the years he had dealt with several such men, but now it was very different. His very own grandchildren were now possibly at risk, and he no longer had any personal influence over the subsequent investigation.

  Back in the house, he was quietly relieved that his wife was still out shopping and not yet at home. He wouldn’t have wished to reveal the awful news to her until he had uncovered much more detail, and even then, it would be extremely difficult. His first call was to his daughter, and he quickly clicked several buttons on the mobile again, bringing up her number. After no response for a little more than a minute, Terry was just about to hang up when Mary finally answered.

  “Mary speaking.”

  “Mary — hi, love. It’s Dad.”

  Mary’s voice rang out on the line, the pleasure of hearing from her father very clear and obvious in her voice.

  “Dad! It’s great to hear from you. Are you and Mum both well?”

  “We’re fine, Mary, and I hope that you, Simon and the lads are too.”

  “We’re all good,” replied Mary instantly.

  Terry sighed with relief before continuing.

  “Mary, I don’t think that you would have heard yet, but there’s a problem that has come up locally that I really need to tell you about.”

  Terry hesitated for a moment before he continued the conversation. He wanted to warn her, but not to frighten his daughter into sheer panic. This was one call to her that would be difficult — extremely difficult — and somehow, he would have to choose his words carefully.

  “I don’t have all the details yet, love, but two local school children, both boys and aged around nine or ten, have been murdered in the last twenty-four hours.”

  Terry hesitated again, allowing his daughter some time to take in the shocking news.

  “I’m sorry to ask this of you, my love, but are Philip and Jacob both at home with you now?”

  Mary gasped before she answered, her voice wavering slightly as she spoke. “They are both here with me, Dad. I can see them as I speak to you; both lads are playing a board game together on the kitchen table.”

  Terry blew out a deep breath. “Thank God for that, Mary. At the moment I’m not even sure which school the two stricken boys attended, but I’ll find out as soon as possible and let you know. In the meantime, if you can do, please keep the lads close to you all the time, and maybe even away from school for a few days. Certainly, if they do go, at least make sure that you drop them off right at the school entrance door, and then pick them up later on before they leave the premises. With a bit of luck, the police will have whoever did this locked up very quickly, but at the moment I don’t want any of us to take any chances at all.”

  “Thanks Dad. I’ll take your advice and fasten Philip and Jacob down firmly until I get the all clear from you. I’m certainly not going to take any risks with my own two boys. You don’t have the Christian names of the two dead children, do you?”

  “No love. As I said, I don’t even know which school or schools they attended at the moment, or even where they were from. As soon as I do, I’ll give you a call and update you.”

  “Thanks, Dad. We really appreciate your call and concern.”

  “You’re more than welcome, love. Speak to you soon. If you need help or you are worried about anything at all, just call me anytime.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Norman Pendleton was busy, even busier than usual, but very gladly took the unexpected phone call from his old work colleague, Terry Reid. Terry was still a legend here at the station, and more than once over the last few years Norman had called his old friend for advice on various cases. Most of what Norman had learned since his rise through the ranks began had been derived from Terry Reid’s guidance. The police manuals and training were excellent, but there was nothing like actual experience and a very wise head when it came down to solving crimes and putting bad criminals away.

  “Terry! How are you, mate?”

  “I’m good, thanks, Norman. I know that you’ll be running around in very tight circles right now, but I won’t keep you on the line for too long. I was just hoping that you could give me an update on the killings of two young lads over the last twenty-four hours. I have grandsons myself that live locally, and I’m really concerned about them, to say the very least.”

  “I appreciate that, Terry. I don’t need to tell you, but any ‘info’ I give you is just for your own ears. You know what it’s like these days with all the correctness we now have to endure on a daily basis.”

  “No problem, Norman. Don’t worry, you can count on me, and I won’t cause any damage.”

  “I’m sure you won’t,” laughed Norman, “in fact I wish that you and your pals were still in action and on the case with me. You lads were certainly the very best.”

  Terry genuinely thanked him and, despite the bad news, grinned briefly into the phone. It was good to be still appreciated even after several years had passed by. He would pass on Norman’s comment to the other boys when he next spoke to them, which would more than likely be very soon.

  “Terry, the first lad was called Jake Stephenson and he was just ten years old. The second was a boy named Callum Wilson and he was only nine. Both lads were local and lived in the South Shore area, and as it happens, both went to the same primary school on Watermane Road. At the moment, we don’t yet know whether attendance at that particular school has any significance, but right now that is the only tie we have between the two murders, apart from the boys having fairly similar ages.”

  Terry took a deep breath as the heartbeat quickly rose in his chest. His own grandsons, Philip and Jacob, both went to Watermane School.

  “As I said, Terry, the first boy to be attacked was Jake Stephenson.”

  Hearing the name repeated again, Terry gulped as a distant memory kicked in. He was almost certain that young Philip had previously mentioned that particular boy’s name as one of his regular friends at school.

  “The second boy was younger and in the class a year below that of Jake’s. As I mentioned too, his name was Callum Wilson. As far as we currently know, the two lads were very good friends and tended to spend a great deal of time together, both at school and recreationally away from school. They lived about half a mile apart from each other.”

  “I know that Jake was found on the edge of the park,” murmured Terry. “What about the other lad?”

  “Callum was discovered in a small cobbled alleyway, just off Marton Drive, South Shore. He was wrapped in a large plastic sheet and dumped in between two dustbins.”
>
  “Bloody hell. I suppose you’ve checked the local cameras for both incidents?” asked Terry.

  “Yeah, Terry, but there’s nothing so far, and certainly there are no cameras on those actual sites. We are currently extending coverage to adjoining areas in the hope that we can track down some potential movement, both to and from the two different places.”

  “Was Callum attacked in the same way as Jake?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry to say it, Terry, but he was a real mess, as was young Jake. We urgently need to find who did this and get them off the streets very quickly. It almost looks as though whoever performed these killings was sending out some sort of a message. Both lads had enough injuries to have died twice. It was way over the top. At the moment no witnesses of their previous whereabouts after they both left school have come forward, which suggests that the boys may have been held under some sort of cover for a short time before being murdered and then possibly dumped in darkness. We’ll soon find out from forensics more or less the exact time when they did die, but it doesn’t seem likely that either of them would have been dropped off where they were in broad daylight and in full view of the public or any passers-by. Both the boys were pupils at the same school, though, and there has to be some sort of a connection with that fact.”

  “Thanks, Norman. Really appreciate it.”

  Terry clicked off the call, placed the phone on the top of his mantelpiece, and standing totally motionless for several long minutes, mournfully stared at the grey carpet below his feet in sheer disbelief.

  CHAPTER 4

  After remaining perfectly still for at least five minutes, Terry Reid finally moved slowly to his drinks cabinet, poured himself a good measure of malt whisky, retrieved his phone, and then finally settled down in his favourite, well-upholstered and very comfortable armchair. One by one, he called Mary, then Reg, Frank, and Roy with the updated news. Terry’s own grandsons, Philip and Jacob, plus Reg’s grandson, each went to Watermane School. All four phone calls were difficult, particularly the ones to Mary and then to Reg. He gently suggested to Mary once more that she keep the boys away from school for at least a week, suggesting that she reported a bout of flu in the family as the reason why. As far as Reg was concerned, Terry knew that he would have to leave the man to make the choices for himself. Reg would probably do what he had suggested to Mary, and very likely keep his own grandson away from school for the next few days. At this moment, the junior school in South Shore was the only common denominator in both of the killings, and that fact alone was nothing less than frightening.

  The murders now had a completely different and even more severe slant on them, particularly from his own private point of view and that of Reg. Somehow the killings had become extremely personal, and Terry knew that he would never rest peacefully until the murderer or murderers were put away, and neither would Reg. He could never be truly at peace unless and until that happened, and slowly, his mind began to turn over and pick up the pieces of his former thinking, trying his best to recover the way that it had always worked for him whenever he needed it to until several years ago. Maybe he could get the other lads to join in with his thought processes. They might all be a little rusty, but four vastly experienced heads were much better than one, and together, it was still possible that between them, they might just make some sort of an effective difference. Taking out his mobile phone again, he began to press the buttons.

  *

  “I’ll have three pints of bitter, and two pints of Guinness.”

  The landlord of the Cock and Hen, a tall, bearded man in his late fifties, blankly stared into the expressionless face of the youth standing at the bar, and then switched his gaze momentarily to one of the larger tables in the saloon area. Four young men, all in their late teens and early twenties were noisily seated around it. They had only been in the pub for five minutes or so, but already many of his other customers were drinking up quickly and nervously leaving the premises. The landlord reluctantly but studiously pulled steadily on the pumps and placed the freshly filled glasses in front of the young man. After first lowering his eyes to the shiny wooden bar top, he finally lifted the glasses onto its surface and spoke in a low voice.

  “That’ll be £17.52, mate.”

  The young man laughed. “Not to us it fuckin’ isn’t, mister. We drink for nowt, as you well know!”

  “You and your mates can’t keep coming in here and drinking free forever, my friend.”

  “I’m not your friend, pal, and we can keep on drinking for nowt as long as we like. My lads protect your pub from hooligans and thieves. You don’t want any of that sort of trash in here, do you, bringing all their bad behaviour with them? And another thing, Mr Landlord, have you got a short memory? We can empty your lousy pub in less than five minutes if you don’t cough up some beers for us. We can also make a really good mess of the place as well. Then we’ll see how your little business goes on, won’t we?”

  The landlord stared at him briefly, glanced once more at the noisy group of four youths at the central table, then slowly turned in resignation and walked away thoughtfully to serve one of the few remaining customers, standing patiently, and further along the bar. The takings were already down because of this group of young men, and he was very much aware that it was simply a matter of time before the brewery replaced him. They wouldn’t know the real truth, and he couldn’t really tell them. Ultimately, the pub would simply close down if this behaviour carried on, and he’d be out of work with a ‘failure’ label hanging around his neck.

  The young man grinned into the landlord’s desolate face, turned away from the bar, and placed the big tray of drinks on the centre of the large, nearby table before returning to his own seat.

  “Trouble?” asked the tallest of the group.

  “Not much, Jed,” answered the boy, with a big grin. “Certainly nothing that I couldn’t handle easily.”

  “That’s good, Patrick,” responded Jed Thomas. “We don’t put up with any rubbish from that fella. If he doesn’t like it, things in this pub will only get a whole lot worse for him.”

  “That’s exactly what I told him.”

  “Good lad.”

  Turning to face the other three young men at the table, Thomas asked, “By the way, lads, have any of you seen Harrison or any of his mob recently?”

  Each man’s head shook negatively from side to side in a silent response to the question.

  “They seem to have gone quiet,” Jed added. “I’m not sure whether that’s good or bad, or whether they’ve simply got the message and finally cleared out of town.”

  Ted, now a long-time member of the group, glanced briefly at the pub entrance door, and then turned to face Jed Thomas. “I think that they may well have got the message, Jed. We told them that we would give them a hard time if they didn’t clear out, and that’s exactly what we’ve done. They won’t know for a certainty that it was us lot that did it, but they should have a very good idea that it was.”

  Jed Thomas nodded his head slowly.

  “What do you think, Tony?”

  Tony, a very stocky twenty-year-old, placed his pint glass on the table, wiped a wet mouth on his shirt sleeve, and deliberately looked directly into the eyes of his boss.

  “I agree with what Ted said. Your idea was an absolute brainwave, Jed. Picking out a different target than the actual gang itself was an amazing idea, and I think it has worked a whole lot better than attacking every single one of Harrison’s mob directly. It was certainly a damn sight easier to do that than anything else would have been. It is one thing having a face-to-face battle with another gang, but when their own family relatives were taken out instead of them, Harrison’s lot will definitely think twice about operating any more on what is our patch. Their own closely connected families wouldn’t be so chuffed either if they knew the real reason why it was that their kids had been wasted.”

  “We’ll second that,” added Paul, a slim, but tall twenty-year-old wearing ripped blue denim jeans
with a pale green T-shirt. A stubbly light brown beard covered the lower half of his face, and various red and blue tattoos of dragons laced his forearms and neck.

  “Graham and I were both saying the same thing as we walked into the pub earlier on, Jed. It was a really great idea,” he added, conjuring up a big grin as he spoke.

  Being new to the gang, praise for its leader would be a very good idea whether he really agreed with what the man had chosen to do or not, but deep inside, Paul had serious reservations. He now realised without any doubt that the group of men he had joined recently had no moral limits whatsoever. Taking opposing gang members out of the picture was one thing, but wiping out young and innocent kids would never have been on Paul’s own agenda. Getting out of this gang, though, could well be much harder than it had been to get in to it. To escape this lot, he would probably have to emigrate to the other side of the world.

  CHAPTER 5

  “OK, boys. So, let’s just see what have we got so far.”

  Chief Inspector Norman Pendleton was unusually dressed out of uniform, and having only minutes ago returned from a very formal police convention just outside Manchester, was wearing a smart grey tailored suit, a white shirt, and multi-coloured tie. His normally light hearted approach to running a meeting was clearly absent. He shuffled his feet, and moved slowly aside from the large white chalk board that hung from the wide back wall of his expansive office, before addressing the five detective officers seated on a row of chairs in front of him. Several enlarged colour photographs were fixed with tiny strips of Sellotape to the left half of the board and a small cluster of brief, hastily scribbled notes were chalked in red, and intentionally close to the right-hand side of each picture.

  “Apart from some very nasty photos of two dead kids, not a lot, to be quite honest,” commented one of his officers, as the man scanned the photographs, and then switched his eyes slightly to the right of each one in order to re-read the notes. “At this moment, we seem to be very short of any tangible evidence, or any useful information from members of the public.”