Old Crackers

by Peter Bates

  “We don’t have much,” agreed Pendleton. “It looks as though the young boys were struck repeatedly with wooden bats or something similar, judging from the bruising and wounds that we can see. At the moment we have not recovered any meaningful DNA traces at the scenes, so it seems to me that it’s very unlikely that they were physically touched by any of their attackers’ hands. So far, the street cameras have thrown up absolutely nothing of any value with regard to how it happened or how they even got to be where they were found. Those facts in themselves do, however, tell me something. These diabolical crimes were probably not committed by any amateur, or a group of amateurs. They weren’t just wiped out in a squabble between two young groups of lads. Whoever did this seems to have known exactly what they were doing, which strangely enough does actually narrow down our field somewhat. If there had been just one victim also, this would have been a much more difficult problem to sort out, but we really must now know for certain that somewhere and somehow there is a definite connection between them. The actual motive for killing these two particular boys must clearly be the key to the offenses.”

  “It’s hard to find a motive for killing two lads, especially ones that were only their ages,” offered another officer. “It’s not as if they were old enough to have already embarked on a life of crime, or had previously attacked other members of their school. I don’t really think that they were old enough or even big enough to be a major problem to anyone.”

  “No. You’re right, Bill, but I want you and the boys to interview every single parent at the school, starting with those in their own age group, and then those in the years both above and below them. It’s not likely to be young kids that did this — the injuries were so severe — but we can’t ignore it as a starting point because of the obvious school connection. If it was a parent, or someone known to them, which I doubt already, they will inevitably be extremely nervous and evasive when you speak to them. You are all perfectly aware that there are some known child molesters around here as well, and we certainly need to get all of them checked out too for solid alibis. If one of these kids had maybe threatened to speak out and expose them or any of their activities, they could well have put themselves at very serious risk.”

  Stuart Green, one of his more experienced officers, spoke up. “If it was another similarly aged kid, or slightly older kids that did this, they would have had a massive problem shifting the bodies without any transport. Neither would they have been clever enough at the murder scene not to have left any scraps of evidence.”

  “I agree, Stuart, that’s very true. Moving them could only have happened if a protective parent subsequently took over afterwards at the murder scene, knowing full well that their child or children had done the killings. We can’t discount parents really, even though I think they are very doubtful suspects at this stage. We’ve got to start somewhere, though. If a parent or child was involved, they’ll certainly show obvious signs of it, that’s for certain. We’d better do background checks on all the parents themselves too, just in case there is some history amongst any of them. That could be relevant, but I’ve a feeling that you’ll probably draw a blank on that. You can ask the teachers if there were any major fall-outs between kids at the school recently. In the meantime, we’ll also check our records here for the presence in the locality of any likely perpetrators. You know what it’s like here in Blackpool — we get a whole lot of transient people passing through, and they are not all clean and law abiding by any means. It’s a really huge job, lads, but we may have to check out all the hotel bookings for the whole local area, particularly looking for any people that have unusually cut short their planned stay here, and then suddenly gone home. Whatever the cause of these murders, it certainly can’t continue, and we have to get the killers of these boys permanently off our streets.”

  *

  Terry Reid found it very difficult to settle or relax. Apart from his own and Reg’s obvious connection to young children that could now be in serious danger, he was very deeply troubled by the sheer nature and viciousness of the two crimes. There was definitely something unusual about them. This type and level of violence often happened between gangs of young men, and over the years he’d been called out to attend large numbers of gang wars and their devastating results in and around the Blackpool area. It had just never before extended to small children as long as he could ever remember. Sure, there was always the odd minor scrap between youngsters, most of whom had been brought up exceptionally badly by their parents, but certainly it had never extended to this level before, or anywhere near to it.

  What was the motive here? Answer that question, and the case would almost certainly be well on its way to being solved. There were only a limited number of people even in Blackpool’s worst areas that would deliberately set out to beat up a child, never mind kill one. The very thought of that gave him his first positive clue. Ninety-nine-point nine percent of the population could not and would never get involved with a crime anything like this one. The mentality that existed amongst the remaining point one of one percent could undertake anything, and the person or persons that had done this must surely have had some previous history of violence, even if they had never been taken in, questioned, or arrested by the police. If there had only been one victim involved, Terry’s thinking could well have been different, but with two, the answers pointed clearly at a definite connection between them.

  Terry felt that the files held in the central police station almost certainly contained the name or names of the killer or killers that had done this. The real trouble was, in Blackpool, the files would be more than plentiful, as they always were in any major town or city. Blackpool’s very transient population also added considerably to what was an already difficult problem. Somehow the most likely potential criminal targets needed to be narrowed down to a much more manageable number. The boys’ killer or killers could still well be complete outsiders, and if there had only been one death, that would be very much more than likely. It wasn’t guaranteed by any means, but two similar killings on consecutive days really made it look a whole lot more local than it would have been. Maybe as a last resort he would call Inspector Norman Pendleton again. It might be more than useful to ask the other old lads what they were thinking as well. In the meantime, he would make a few more phone calls, and see what information he could turn up. He took another small sip from his whisky glass, stared blankly at the wall for thirty long seconds, and then once more Terry Reid picked up his mobile phone.

  CHAPTER 6

  Mel Harrison pulled up his highly polished, sky-blue coloured 5 series BMW in the relatively small car parking area belonging to the Rose and Crown public house. It was a first for him and a first for his gang. The pub was located on the outskirts of a small village no more than a few miles from Southport, and being ‘out of the way’ and camera free, at this moment in time, was a perfect location for them to meet up. The building itself was clearly old but not too large, and very Victorian in style. More importantly, it was also out of the view of the very busy main road that ran nearby, and was mostly surrounded and screened by a series of large and very old oak trees. He and the lads wouldn’t be using the pub that often — the Pilgrim’s Arms in Blackpool was normally a much easier option and certainly more convenient — but today he wanted to be out of town, and also well out of the sight of any prying eyes. Switching off the car’s engine, he wound down the window for some welcome fresh air and a slightly better phone signal, and then reached his hand under the dashboard. After clicking it on, he quickly checked his mobile for any incoming messages.

  There was one call each from Bob, Alan, Gary and Kenny. All were brief, confirmed that they were all already on their way, and that each of them would be likely to arrive at the pub very shortly. Mel glanced at his watch. Just coming up to eleven-fifty a.m., and if the roads remained as unusually quiet for the others as they had been for him, his group of men would all very soon be seated around one of the outside tables, sampling the
ir first beers of the day. Mel closed the window, locked the car, then headed directly for one of the outside tables, removing his casual denim jacket after checking, from a lifetime of habit, that its pockets were all completely empty. He then draped it loosely across the back of one of the aluminium and canvas folding chairs, before strolling through the open doors and into a small, but very comfortable, bar and seating area.

  “Five pints of lager, please, mate.”

  The landlord was middle-aged, of average height, and smartly dressed in a bright red sports jacket and an open necked blue shirt. He was smiling until he glanced quickly and then apprehensively into Harrison’s dark, brooding eyes and sharp facial features, before immediately beginning to set up the empty pint glasses in a neat row on the bar top. Watching him closely, Mel Harrison couldn’t help but laugh inwardly. Just what was it about his own face that made people react to him in this way? Sometimes it helped a lot, other times it definitely put people too much on the back foot when he wasn’t intending to threaten them at all. It did mean, though, that he always got things done without question, and in the particular lifestyle that he had chosen, whatever other people labelled that as, it was certainly a gift, and definitely an asset, not to be wasted.

  “Just put them on a tray, mate. I’ll carry them outside myself, save you a job.” Mel Harrison smiled pleasantly at the landlord’s apprehensive face as he pulled a thick pile of ten-pound notes from his trouser pocket, extracted two of them and paid for the drinks. Paying for the drinks wasn’t something that he did regularly — most were free when he demanded it — but he wanted no hiccups at all here, today or any other day. This would be a good place for him and the boys to occasionally meet up, and he had no wish to attract any undue attention to that.

  Outside, the sun had gradually broken through the slowly moving and scattered white clouds, and the temperature was warming up nicely. He loosely draped his mid-blue denim jacket across his broad shoulders, set up the glasses neatly around the large table’s surface, and immediately returned the empty tray to the grateful landlord. At the very same moment that he stepped back outside and passed through the open pub doorway again, Gary appeared, walking hurriedly towards him from the direction of the car park.

  “Hi, mate,” yelled Mel. “I’ve got the beers in. Come on over and get yourself sat down.”

  Arriving quickly, Gary grinned broadly as he shook Mel’s hand firmly with his right hand, and patted him gently on the back with his left one.

  “Well done, boss. Glad you got ’em in. I’m dry as a bone.”

  “No problem, pal. We’ve done reasonably well lately, despite one or two very recent setbacks, which I intend to put right quite soon.”

  Gary nodded. “We need to,” he said simply.

  After a few moments of meaningful silence, he then asked quietly, “When are the other lads coming?”

  “Right now!” yelled Mel, pointing an unusually large index finger directly over Gary’s head towards the parking area.

  Gary twisted sharply in his seat, his pale blue eyes peering over his own right shoulder and instantly locking onto those of Bob, Alan, and Kenny as they crossed the narrow tarmac path towards their table. All three men were dressed in a very similar fashion to those already seated. Blue jeans, an assortment of coloured T-shirts, each one displaying different logos, and all wearing either trainers or very casual shoes.

  “Sit down, lads,” said Mel quietly, beckoning the arriving three men to the vacant chairs, “We’ve got a lot of talking and thinking to do, as well as a few beers to get down our dry throats.”

  “First of all, Bob and Kenny,” he unusually began in a gruff and lowered voice, “it sure goes without saying that we lads are absolutely gutted about your two nephews, Jake and Callum. In a way, I’m just glad that we all don’t have brothers or sisters of our own, otherwise I strongly suspect that it could have been even worse than it is.”

  Harrison fell silent as each of the other four men nodded their heads slowly, their faces solemn; normally hard eyes now lowered grimly and fixed steadily and unmoving onto the table top’s surface.

  “Needless to say, guys,” Mel Harrison continued after the brief silence, “the bastards that did this will reap a similar reward, and it won’t be their families that get taken out, it will be them. Blackpool is our patch, and we’re not being pushed out by a lunatic bunch of brainless idiots.”

  “You sure they did it, boss?” asked Kenny.

  “All the facts point to Jed Thomas’ mob. He made several threats very recently, and now this. Who else would dare to wipe out two young kids, and each one of them directly related to one of us boys? The only thing that worries me slightly, Kenny, is that we’ve heard nothing at all from them, and I would have expected them to be shouting it out very loudly if it really was them.”

  “I wonder if another gang’s moved into town,” murmured Alan.

  “Not heard of one,” added Gary. “I’m sure we would have known by now if one had done. The local grapevine’s not come up with anything new.”

  “Alan’s right though,” muttered Mel. “We need to keep our ears to the ground and our eyes skinned just in case there really is a new outfit around. We’ve got a few spotters scattered around the place as well, so maybe we should get them on the lookout too.”

  “Have we got a plan, yet?” asked Bob, his eyes constantly wandering towards the open doors of the pub entrance.

  “Not yet,” replied Mel, “but believe me, mate, we will have. There’s no way any of us are going to do any time for this, so if we fix it and find out for sure that it was them, we will need to plan everything very smartly. Don’t forget too, fellas, that there’s a very good chance right now the coppers will be watching both of our gangs very carefully, particularly if they realise that there’s a possible connection as we have done. They could be probably guessing already, just like us, that Jed Thomas’ crew could well have been involved in it all, but the coppers may just be a bit short of solid evidence that would hold up in the court.”

  *

  “OK, lads, let’s all get some updates. I can tell you first of all that nothing new in the way of evidence appears to have cropped up from around the crime scene itself, other than the fact that we now know for certain that the weapons used on the boys were wooden.”

  Norman Pendleton dropped his pen disappointedly on top of the open case file folder as he spoke the words, and looked up questioningly into the eyes of his team. Each of the twelve men had their eyes glued firmly onto his own, but remained quiet.

  Finally, Sergeant John Edwards, a big six-footer in his early forties, nodded his head in Pendleton’s direction and slowly stood up to speak. It wasn’t at all necessary to stand, but John Edwards knew that after spending twenty plus years in the force, he would gain more attention if he did so, and those around him would better remember anything that he had to say. He quietly cleared his throat before speaking.

  “I have something very interesting, Chief. The boys and I have checked on both sets of parents for any info that they might have which might prove useful to us. As you can imagine, most of that came to nothing, but it wasn’t too long before we did come up with something that was surprising, and probably could be very relevant. It turns out that the two dead children both had grandparents that have a connection most of us certainly do know about. The grandparent of Jake Stephenson is a man called Bob Stephenson, and Callum Wilson’s grandad is Kenny Wilson.”

  Tim Bennett, the most recent member of the team, and also a relatively new arrival to the Fylde coast area, raised his right arm for attention.

  “Yes, Tim.”

  “Sorry, Chief Inspector, I know that I’ve not been around here for very long, but don’t Bob Stephenson and Kenny Wilson both belong to the local and well-known Harrison mob?”

  “They do.”

  A buzz of lowered voices echoed around the room, and Norman nodded briefly towards Tim Bennett before continuing.

  “Well done, Tim. O
nly on the patch for a few weeks and you seem to know your way around already. The rest of you lads will know too, that Harrison’s mob is ruthless and has ruled the gang roost for a long time on this short strip of coast. This information could turn the whole investigation on its head, but we’ve a way to go yet before we reach a final conclusion, and just right now, I don’t want them or any other gang to know that we could be on to it. Whilst you boys and the lads on the street are out and about, I want a record of all sightings of local gang members, and their locations. If any of you are not familiar with all of their faces, pick up their photos on your way out from here. If this crime is gang related, and it looks very much now as though it could well be, we need to get them off the streets quickly.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Terry Reid’s call from Norman Pendleton came in at the same moment that he was placing a large plate of freshly smoked salmon and salad on his kitchen table. He almost didn’t pick up the phone, thinking that he would eat first, and then check the caller later. These days, ninety-nine percent of incoming calls were just trivia from pals, plus the odd nuisance call from telephone canvassers and conmen, most of which he cut off quickly with a curse. It seemed to him that the conmen deliberately targeted the over sixties, thinking that they’d all be very easy pickings. Sighing deeply, he clicked on the ‘receive’ button; his dour facial expression changing rapidly as he warmly recognised the voice of Norman.

  “Hi, Norman. How’s it going?”

  “Busy as usual, mate. As you well know, there’s always plenty going on in and around Blackpool, especially at this time of year.”