Jack stood up, leaving Maggie sitting on the stairs. ‘Get me a brandy,’ she instructed. ‘Then get your arse upstairs before I fall asleep.’
Not needing to be asked twice, Jack raced down to the kitchen.
It was the first time that Jack and Maggie had made love since Hannah was born – and the quickest. As they lay together afterwards, relaxed in each other’s arms, it felt like a new, exciting chapter was about to begin. Maggie declared that she was happier now than she had ever been in her entire life. And part of her happiness came from Jack finally finding his place in the world.
‘Go back to the Cotswolds with your head high, Jack. Whether they know it or not, they’re lucky to have you.’ Maggie was clearly in a soppy mood, but her words were sincere and made Jack feel better about the awkward situation he was in. Maggie propped herself up on Jack’s chest, so she could look him in the eyes. ‘You’re a special copper, you know that, don’t you? With the mind of Harry Rawlins and the heart of Charlie Warr.’ Jack was surprised to hear Maggie speak Harry’s name. He assumed that Maggie had erased him from their lives as a long-dead, bad influence. But apparently Harry Rawlins popped into her mind every now and then, just as he popped into Jack’s. ‘They make you who you are. Think like Harry, act like Charlie, and you’ll be invincible. You are the very best of two strong and memorable men. You are a force to be reckoned with, Jack Warr.’
CHAPTER 13
In the forty-eight hours Jack had been in London, both teams – Oxford and Chipping Norton – had shared all the intel from the past three years and were now completely up to speed.
Before he’d left for his daughter’s naming ceremony, Jack had contributed one vitally important instruction: to keep this case on a ‘need-to-know’ basis. The general public already had little-to-no faith in the police’s ability to catch this gang, so if they found out about the growing physical dangers to homeowners, they’d be up in arms. Jack advised that, although the Barrowman burglary itself would inevitably become public knowledge, ‘Mathew’s assault should remain a secret. And, most importantly—’
Lee had interrupted at this point to say that he’d personally go and see Mr Barrowman to explain. ‘Barrowman will be fine once he sees you’ve brought in the big guns. And I’ll give an edited statement to the press, to keep them out of the way.’
Jack waited until he’d finished. ‘What I was going to say was that we still don’t know who the insider is, or if there’s more than one. Any gossip on the streets could be fatal.’
*
By the time Jack got back to Chipping Norton, DIs Lee and Mason had got their feet firmly under the desk and Jack was now the one playing catch-up.
Lee and Mason sat opposite Gifford in his office. Oaks perched on the windowsill and a small, low office chair had been provided for Jack. He opted to ignore the obvious symbolism and remain standing in order to assert authority, whether he actually still had any, or not.
Lee took the lead. ‘There’s a livery stable in Oxford renting horseboxes, trailers, tractors and farm equipment. The owner, Jacob Mulhern, has it on record that, in the dim and distant past, he rented a three-horse trailer to a Mr Smart. I believe you know the name. It’s the same MO – fake ID, paid in cash, collected and dropped off in the dead of night.’
‘Apologies if this has already been covered in my absence, but how come this wasn’t flagged when DI Gifford originally shared Mr Smart’s name with you?’ As soon as Jack had said it, he knew the answer. Gifford never had shared the name with Oxford Robbery. Everyone in the room silently decided to ignore Jack’s question. It was pointless raking over old mistakes; they had to move forwards now. And they had to move together.
Lee continued: ‘As soon as we did realise your gang had rented trailers in Oxford, we interviewed Mulhern. We’ve had two burglaries, both about a year and a half ago. They were picked up by uniform and, because the owners just wanted to claim on the insurance and forget about it, they weren’t escalated to us. This, in itself, is nothing unusual – if the victim doesn’t pursue, we can’t pursue. Anyway, the name Smart was on file, so here we are.’
Oaks piped up, wanting to be an active part of the handover to Jack. ‘Because of Bevan’s mastery of the whiteboards, it was a quick and easy job to compare the Oxford robbery dates with our Chipping Norton dates and see that this gang has never actually had any down-time, as we originally thought. When they weren’t in one place, they were in another. They never stopped.’
‘Great.’ Jack felt he was having his own investigation explained to him. ‘So, we now have all information pertaining to these two old burglaries and trailer rentals, do we?’
‘We’ve brought you more than that, DS Warr.’ Lee’s smug tone made Jack lean forwards in anticipation; something good was about to be shared. ‘Mr Smart has just rented another trailer from Mulhern.’
Jack’s eyes widened. Oaks stood up, full of excitement. ‘So, they’re gonna hit again!’ He realised for the first time in three years, they were ahead of the gang.
Mason spoke for the first time in his soft Welsh lilt. ‘We’ve got it covered. We’re watching the most likely targets, based on the geography of the two known incidents.’
Jack’s demeanour immediately shifted from confident to concerned. ‘Sir, two incidents can’t give you any kind of a pattern, it’s statistically impossible, so there’s no way for you to know if you’re protecting the right target homes. You have to watch the livery.’
Mason frowned and his voice took on a deeper, darker tone. ‘I can assure you we know how to do our job.’
But Jack stood his ground. ‘Scattergun policing won’t work with this gang; they’re too organised. You have to be precisely targeted and the only thing you know about for sure is the livery stable.’
Mason shook his head. ‘That would mean allowing the burglary to take place.’
‘It’s the only thing you can do.’ Jack looked to Gifford for some kind of support, any kind of support, and when he didn’t get it, Jack finally snapped at this poor excuse for a police officer. ‘Tell me I’m wrong if you think I am, sir. Or tell them they’re wrong!’ Jack tried to regain his composure. ‘DI Mason, if you follow them into the rat-run, you will get lost. You have to wait for them to come out. At the livery stable.’ A troubling thought brought a deep frown to Jack’s brow. ‘How did Mulhern know to call you about Mr Smart? Does Mulhern know that Smart’s name is directly connected to the burglaries? Because if you’ve told him, then he’s definitely the one you should be protecting!’
Before Jack had finished his sentence, Lee was on his feet. ‘DS Warr, that’s enough! We’ve just brought you the best lead you’ve had in three years. We fully intend to return to Oxford and interview Mulhern. If you want to remain part of this investigation as we finally close in on Mr Smart, I suggest you toe the line.’
Jack’s jaw clenched and his nostrils flared, but he didn’t say a word. At that moment, he wanted to arrest Mr Smart slightly more than he wanted to hit DI Lee.
CHAPTER 14
The Oxford livery stables were in darkness by the time Mason’s car pulled up across the uneven driveway. Lee had returned to their Thames Valley Police Station on Abingdon Road, to get his DCI and local councillors up to speed, which told Jack all he needed to know about where Lee’s priorities lay; placating the elite was clearly more important than making sure Mulhern was safe and then laying a trap at his livery stables to be triggered by the gang when they returned the horse trailer in the dead of night.
The fifty-minute drive to just past Abingdon in Oxfordshire had been deathly silent. Jack and Lee had clearly not got off to the best of starts, which irked Mason who hated any kind of confrontation within his team. He’d decided that the best way to handle the tension was to say nothing.
Mason had just received a phone call from Lee to say that a patrol car had attended Mulhern’s livery stables less than an hour ago and had been unable to get an answer. But all was quiet, and the house was secure, so
he was probably out. Lee’s insinuation that they were on a wasted trip didn’t allay Jack’s fears that something could be very wrong.
Mason knocked loudly on the front door to Mulhern’s home for the third time. ‘Looks like uniform was right,’ Mason shrugged. ‘He’s just out. It’s all good.’
Jack peered in through the lounge window for signs of life as Mason headed towards the stables just across the yard. Jack shielded his eyes from the glare of the security light. ‘There are coats and boots inside the front door.’ Jack shifted position, so he could see the other end of the lounge. ‘There’s a half-eaten sandwich on a plate perched on the arm of the sofa. And a mug of tea on the floor. Not touched by the looks of things.’ On the kitchen table was a carrier bag, rolled down to reveal a potted plant inside. Although partly obscured, Jack could just make out the business logo on the side of this bag: the word ‘Miles’ intertwined with leafy graphics. Charlotte Miles again.
Jack turned to share his discovery, but Mason was standing frozen in place, staring in through the open top half of a stable door. Jack moved swiftly to his side.
Mulhern’s body was on the floor. He was gagged and his arms were bound behind his back with rope. He was lying in the middle of a large blood-soaked pile of hay and a huge grey stallion stood within inches of Mulhern’s head, eating its fill of the crime scene. Jack moved quickly past the seemingly catatonic Mason, opened the lower half of the stable door and led the grey away from the body. Once the horse was secure, Jack turned to Mason with every intention of tearing a strip off him for freezing, DI or not, but from the expression on Mason’s face as he stared down at the body of the man he’d failed to protect, Jack knew that shouting wasn’t necessary. Mason already knew this was his responsibility.
‘Call it in,’ Jack instructed, ‘DI Mason! Call it in!’ Mason snapped out of his horrified trance and got out his mobile phone.
Mulhern lay on his right side, with his left arm pulled so far round his back that his shoulder was no longer in its socket. His right shin bone was so badly crushed that it lay almost flat against the concrete floor, and the bloodied hoof prints on his shredded trouser leg suggested that the grey had been encouraged to trample this part of Mulhern’s body, over and over.
Torture. Brutal, excruciating torture. Jack crouched down, careful not to touch anything, and examined the body more closely. Someone had carved gouges out of Mulhern’s forearms as well as cutting out little squares of skin. Finally, they’d brought his pain to an end by shattering his skull, most likely with the same crowbar they used on Mathew. Mulhern’s crushed and misshapen head now lay in a pool of dark red gore. Only his thick blond hair and the coagulated mess of hay, blood and brain matter, held his skull together.
Jack heard repeated heavy exhalations as Mason breathed himself calm over Jack’s left shoulder. ‘Ambulance . . . is coming,’ he managed to say between breaths. ‘And DI Lee . . . Fuck . . . Mulhern didn’t know anything. They’d have known that in seconds, so . . . why this? Fuck.’
Jack spun round and looked into Mason’s panicked eyes. Then Mason uttered completely the wrong words: ‘Right . . . well . . . we need to get our story straight with this one, DS Warr.’
If Mason had shown any sign of guilt, instead of the desire for self-preservation, things might have gone differently.
Jack jabbed Mason in the stomach with his clenched fist, sending him to his knees, then grabbed him tightly around the neck from behind, forcing his head up so he had no option but to look directly at the mangled body in front of him. Mason desperately tried to force his fingers into the gap between Jack’s forearm and his own windpipe, so he could breathe. Jack squeezed his words out through gritted teeth: ‘You sent all of your resources to protect the most important homes in the area! Those who shout the loudest, right, Colin? Fuckwits like Barrowman, the man who pays your wages. Well, Jacob Mulhern paid your wages too! And look at him . . . Look at him!’
Mason’s eyes bulged and reddened as oxygen left his panicked brain, but Jack continued, calm and terrifying. ‘You’re thinking, how do I get out of this fuck-up? Well, I’ll tell you. Me! I’m your only way out of this now.’
Jack threw Mason forwards onto his hands, where he retched and gasped for breath while distant sirens filled the air. Jack spoke calmly. ‘This gang has gone beyond the point of no return, because after murdering an innocent man, they know they have to get out quickly and with enough money to go to ground. So, they’ll hit the annual equestrian event back in Chipping Norton, and they’ll hit it hard. I know this gang, and I know how to track burglars. I will fight the likes of Barrowman to get my job done, but I won’t fight you. From this second forwards, you’re on my side, sir, or I’ll ruin you without a second thought.’
Jack turned on his heel, closing the lower half of the stable door behind him, and walked towards Lee’s unmarked police car, which was followed in by two marked patrol cars and the forensics van.
Mason, still on his hands and knees, wasn’t visible to anyone outside of the stable. He crawled to the wall, pushed himself to his feet and brushed his trousers clean of hay; he took in several deep breaths, loosened his tie and opened the top button of his shirt. He heard Lee and Jack talking as they approached. He finally managed to compose himself, and then appeared round the doorway as though nothing at all had happened.
Lee was immediately thrown by the sight that faced him, but he was a calmer, colder man than Mason so recovered his senses quickly and started barking out instructions to the uniformed officers and forensics team. But Mason didn’t hear any of it. He was too busy staring at Jack, his dark eyes now hooded by his thick brows and divided by a deep furrow. Looking at him, Mason knew that every threat made by Jack a moment ago had been genuine. But more than that, Mason also knew that every accusation Jack had thrown at him was justified.
*
From the outside, St Aldates Police Station in Oxford could just as easily have been a library or public baths. It was a beautiful old building with centuries of city life etched into its sandstone walls. Only the numerous CCTV cameras and modern windows made it look as if it belonged in the twenty-first century. Inside, however, it was a typical police station; far more high-tech than Chipping Norton and more heavily manned, but a typical cop shop nonetheless.
Gifford, Oaks and Davidson had driven across from Chipping Norton and were now waiting to be brought up to speed. They were each nursing a machine-dispensed hot drink in a paper cup but none of them were drinking the contents. Canteen Barbara had spoilt them rotten and now there was no going back.
As DI Lee spoke, Mason sat at his laptop and got all of the crime scene photos up on the interactive whiteboard that covered one complete wall. Once the images were uploaded, Lee could then move them around, enlarging and reducing, as he referenced each one. For Davidson, this was his first murder. The gruesome nature of the images didn’t bother him, as he’d seen numerous farming accidents in his time. But the deliberate brutality of one person taking another’s life in such a cruel way was shocking to everyone.
Lee’s succinct and emotionless summary of Mulhern’s murder was impressive. ‘So,’ he concluded. ‘The burglaries and the murder are intrinsically linked. Because the crime scene is so vast, covering both our jurisdictions, we need to work very closely together now and constantly share intel. I propose that DI Mason and I lead the murder angle from Oxford, and DI Gifford continues to lead the burglary angle from Chipping Norton.’
Jack knew that Lee wanted the far sexier murder investigation for himself, which was fine by him. All Jack wanted was to make sure that no one else died. ‘Sir, of course DI Gifford and yourself should lead this now dual investigation, but perhaps we should shuffle the teams to make best use of accumulated knowledge.’ Out of the corner of his eye, Jack could see Davidson twitching and fidgeting like a child desperate to be chosen first for a game of five-a-side. ‘DC Ronnie Davidson would be an asset to you, sir.’ Jack glanced casually at Mason.
‘And DI Mason would be invaluable to us. If you’re amenable, DI Mason?’
Mason knew he had no choice but to back Jack’s decision and claim to be more than happy with the idea of joining the Chipping Norton team.
*
Mason and Jack drove back to Chipping Norton together. ‘When I said you’d be invaluable to this end of the investigation, I wasn’t blowing smoke. I don’t really know what kind of a copper you are. But I do know what kind of a man you are. Finding Mulhern was . . . well, just hang on to those feelings of guilt and horror, because you’ll need them to catch this gang. You’ve got to feel in this job, Mason. Lee doesn’t, but you do. Guilt. Horror. Anything. Without feeling, there’s nothing pushing you on. Nothing that’s worth anything, anyway.’
By eight o’clock, Jack and Mason were in the bar of The Fox Hunters sipping their first pints of the evening. ‘So, who’s this inside man you were on about?’
‘Inside woman,’ Jack said with a smile, opening a packet of crisps.
‘Charlotte Miles has a smallholding and runs two businesses, a gardening and landscaping sort of set-up, and a fruit and veg delivery service. Her name crops up in every burglary, though to be fair, there’s a lot of names connected to every burglary; it’s a small, tangled community in that sense. But . . . on Mulhern’s kitchen table there was one of her delivery bags with a potted plant inside. She’s involved. I know she is.’
Mason, overwhelmed by his personal need for redemption, wanted to get over to Charlotte’s right now and bring her in. But Jack assured him that she wasn’t going anywhere.
Oaks joined them carrying a very cloudy-looking pint of cider and dragging a bar stool, as it was the only unoccupied seat left in the place. Oaks relayed all of the information that had just been sent through to him. ‘Jacob Mulhern: widower, two daughters, three grandkids. Nothing from his CCTV. It had been disconnected, but not in a “burglar” kind of way. It looked like Mulhern did it himself. His phone records show he was getting quotes to have all of his security replaced . . .’
Judas Horse Page 14
