by Rob Ashman
‘Yeah you could say that. We are having a few … well you know.’ He tailed off again. ‘Look what the fuck is this about? Haven’t you people done enough damage?’
‘What car does your wife drive?’
‘A Corsa. What the hell has that got to do with anything?’
‘What colour is it, Jack?’
‘Dark blue.’
Tavener flashed a sideways glance at Kray.
‘Is there anyone else who could confirm you were at home at that time?’
‘Yeah, there’s loads of people in my house at that time of night when I’m tucked up in bed. What do you think? You people crease me up with your bullshit lines of questioning. Why don’t you leave me and my family alone?’ He stopped and put his head in his hands. His shoulders began to shake and tears ran through his fingers. ‘Oh, silly me I forgot for a minute. I got that wrong didn’t I?’ he yelled, jumping to his feet. ‘I got that wrong because I haven’t got a fucking family, have I?’ He yanked a picture off a side table showing him, a woman and a small smiling child on a trike. He shoved it into Kray’s face. ‘I don’t have a family because she’s dead, killed by that bloody Cadwell. And where is he now? In prison where you would expect? No, he’s roaming around free as a bird because between you lot, the CPS and the judge you fucked it up.’
‘We are deeply sorry about what happened to your daughter and deeply sorry that the judge chose the sentence he did, but you have to understand that is out of our hands,’ Kray said with all the compassion she could muster. Her brow creased in sympathy.
‘You’re all the same, each one shoving the blame onto the others. My daughter is dead and he gets off with it.’
‘Jack you need to calm down,’ said Kray.
‘Oh yeah, calm down. Calm down. Because that’s what a father does when his four-year-old kid gets knocked down by a car and killed, and the driver is handed a suspended sentence. That’s precisely what you do - calm fuckin’ down! We got a bedroom full of toys and unopened Christmas presents on her bed and neither of us can bear to go in there.’
‘Jack we know how hard this must be—’
‘No you don’t, you don’t have a clue. If you did, he would be behind bars getting his arse ripped open every night by a big bloke with tattoos who wants to be called Brenda. If you cared one jot, that’s where he’d be right now, not walking about laughing his fucking head off.’ Stapleton spat the words at Kray.
He backed away, slumping back down in the chair and gazed teary eyed at the photograph. His face flushed red.
Kray looked at Tavener and shook her head. There was nothing else for it.
‘Jack, put some clothes on we need to do this down at the station.’
Stapleton launched himself at Kray.
Tavener took him off his feet with a shoulder charge that saw the pair of them land in a heap on the lounge floor.
Not exactly what Kray had in mind when she had said ‘low key’.
Chapter 8
Kray sat opposite Stapleton in the interview room. She was flying solo this time having dispatched Tavener to pick up Liz Stapleton and bring her in for questioning.
‘You are not under arrest, Jack but you are under caution, and this interview is being recorded. You have been advised of your rights and have a solicitor present.’ Kray paused for the middle-aged woman sat to Stapleton’s left to state her name.
‘Audrey Piper, duty solicitor.’
‘We need to ask you a few questions and I understand that talking to the police is difficult for you, but I want you to remain calm. Is that clear?’
‘Yes it’s clear. I’m sorry about earlier, some days are worse than others and this morning wasn’t good. Will you be charging me with assaulting a police officer?’
‘I’m not sure what you’re referring to, Jack, I would much prefer that we move on. But I do need you to cooperate.’
Kray’s eyes locked with Stapleton’s and that was all she had to say.
‘I understand,’ he said, casting his gaze to the ceiling.
‘For the purpose of the tape I will summarise what was said at the house.’ Kray continued, content that the message had been received loud and clear. ‘You told us you were home alone, in bed at around eleven-thirty last night. There is no one who can vouch for your whereabouts. You and your wife are going through a bad patch and she is currently staying at her sister’s house. You also told us your wife drives a dark blue car. Is all that correct, Jack?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘When was the last time you saw James Cadwell?’
Despite his assurances, Stapleton flashed with anger at the mention of the man’s name but managed to hold it together this time. ‘It would have been the final day in court when the sentence was handed down. If you can call it a sentence.’
‘You haven’t seen him or been in contact with him since?’
‘No I’ve steered well clear of the little shit. If I did manage to bump into him, I’d kill the fucker!’
Piper nearly had a seizure and grabbed his arm, pulling him in close and whispering frantically into his ear. Stapleton pulled away and looked at her.
‘Well what else am I supposed to say? Oh, if I met him again I’d take him to McDonalds and buy him a Happy Meal? The man killed my daughter, he mowed her down in his car in broad daylight. She died at the scene. She was walking hand in hand with Liz, when he mounted the kerb and knocked her fifteen feet along the road. The impact took her clean out of Liz’s grasp. All because he was texting on his bloody phone. What else do you expect me to say?’
‘So you admit to wanting to see James Cadwell dead?’
Piper lurched for his arm again but it was too late. ‘Of course I do, wouldn’t you? Cadwell beguiles the court with some cock and bull story about having to look after his mum who has dementia and the family relies on his money to scrape by. Judge Fuckwit swallows the lot and gives him a suspended sentence. When the truth is he hardly ever sees his bloody mother and his money comes from his criminal activities. It was a circus, and we are the ones living the sentence, not him.’ Stapleton had his fists clenched on the desktop trying to keep himself in check. ‘Look I’m sorry about earlier but it doesn’t change anything. Cadwell killed my daughter and walked away, any father would want him dead.’
‘Which is why we need to ask about your whereabouts,’ Kray said, ‘and there is no one who can confirm where you were last night?’
‘Has something happened to him? Is Jimmy Cadwell dead?’
‘I am not at liberty to—’
‘Fucking hell, he is, isn’t he? It was on the news this morning, a report about some bloke being killed in a hit and run. They didn’t give the victim’s name but it was Cadwell, wasn’t it? That’s why you wanted to know the type of car Liz drove.’
‘We cannot confirm or deny—’
‘Oh my God.’ Stapleton flung himself back into his chair almost toppling over. He tilted his head back and buried his face in his hands. ‘He’s dead, someone killed him.’ Stapleton jumped up from his seat giving Piper the fright of her life.
‘Jack, you need take it easy,’ Kray said. ‘We don’t want a repeat—’
‘Don’t worry I’m not about to kick off, I could not be happier.’ Stapleton bent over at the waist putting his hands on his knees like he was out of breath. ‘I can’t believe it. This is the best news ever!’
‘Jack can you sit down. You need to answer our questions.’
Stapleton returned to his seat, tears in his eyes. ‘I will do whatever you want, I’ll answer any question you want. You have just made my day, no my year! That is brilliant.’ He slumped forwards and began sobbing. There was a loud knock at the door.
Kray terminated the interview and found Tavener standing in the corridor. She stepped out, closing the door behind her.
‘Sorry, Roz, can I have a word?’
‘Yeah, you can have several.’
‘How’s it going in there?’
‘He saw a news it
em this morning saying a man was killed in a hit and run, put two and two together and come up with four. I’ve not confirmed or denied it but he’s like a dog with two dicks in there. He couldn’t be happier.’
‘Can’t say I blame him.’
‘Yeah, I know what you mean. Anyway I don’t think he had anything to do with Cadwell’s death. He strikes me as a man who struggles to get himself dressed during the day let alone someone with the capability to plan a murder. What do you have?’
‘I have good news and some bad news.’
‘Good news first.’
‘I think we’ve got the vehicle used to kill Cadwell. It’s a dark blue Vauxhall Vectra, a couple of uniformed officers found it burned out on a patch of waste ground about five miles from Clinton Avenue. The inside is gutted, so fingerprints are unlikely, but forensics have found fragments of grey material snagged on the broken headlights and the bumper which match the clothing Cadwell was wearing on the night he was killed. There are also several blood traces on the back and front of the Vectra which have been sent off to the lab. We are also comparing the skid marks found at the scene with the tyre treads. They will take a while to come back but I’m pretty confident it’s the right car.’
‘That’s a result.’ Kray paused. ‘Doesn’t that strike you as odd?’
‘What?’
‘That you would go to the trouble of torching the inside of the car to cover your tracks and not burn the outside as well.’ The scar on her cheek began to itch and tingle.
‘I’m not with you?’
‘Whoever mowed down Cadwell didn’t pour the accelerant over the bodywork when he set it on fire. If he had, we wouldn’t have fragments of his clothing and blood stains.’
‘I see what you mean. Maybe whoever did it just got careless.’
‘No, it’s more like they only did half a job.’ Kray drifted off, fidgeting with her wedding ring.
Tavener was growing impatient. ‘Do you want the bad news?’
‘Oh, erm, yes. What is it?’ Kray snapped back to the present.
‘Liz Stapleton has done a runner. She was at school this morning and left, suddenly. We checked her sister’s place … she’s not there.’
‘Shit!’
‘What?’
‘Stapleton must have made a phone call when he was getting dressed before we dragged him here.’
‘I don’t get you?’
‘Take over for me with Jack Stapleton.’
‘Why where are you going?’
‘Liz Stapleton hasn’t done a runner, I know exactly where she is.’
Chapter 9
It was the day I found my friend’s severed leg.
I had abandoned any further attempts at starting the Jackal and tore over to the Snatch Land Rover, throwing myself into the front seat. It roared into life first time. Ever since I had shredded the hillside with the M2 it had all gone quiet. There had been no sign of the mortar boys and the insurgents were either dead or dying.
The wheels spun on the shale as I powered the short distance to the house. Pat had heard me coming and had Jono up and waiting. I swung the front end around and backed up. I could hear the doors being flung open and Jono cried out as he was bundled on top of the sack containing the AK-47 magazines. Bootleg jumped into the front passenger seat.
‘Go, go!’ Pat yelled.
‘No, no wait,’ Jono said, trying to get up. ‘We need to get Ryan and Donk.’
‘They’re gone, Jono, we gotta get you to a hospital.’
‘I’m not fucking leaving them.’
‘Jono, there’s bound to be more Taliban around. We need to get going.’
‘I’m not leaving without them. They hung American contractors from a bridge in Falluja after mutilating their bodies. They are not doing that to any of us.’
‘But that wall took two direct hits, not sure there’s anything left of Ryan … and Donk took one while he was blasting away on his perch,’ said Pat.
‘Then let’s go and see.’ Jono slumped back as the pain washed through him.
Bootleg shot me a glance.
I shoved my right foot into the floor and slewed the truck around. As we bumped and jerked across the dust bowl we could hear the distant pop-pop-pop of assault rifles.
‘Shit, there’s more of them,’ Bootleg shouted over the growl of the engine.
I looked to my left and could see a group of men working their way down the hillside. I stamped on the break skidding to a stop close to the wall. Pat threw open the back doors.
There on the ground, laying in a crumpled heap, was Ryan’s body. He had been thrown clear in the blast.
‘He’s here!’ Pat called out and we both jumped from the cab to help. Plumes of dust kicked up around our feet as the shells missed their mark. Pop-pop-pop, the frequency was intensifying. We each grabbed a part of Ryan and heaved his body into the back of the Land Rover.
I eventually slammed my foot on the accelerator and we skidded away. The staccato sound of metal on metal filled the confines of the cabin as the rounds cracked against the side. The back window blew out showering Bootleg with glass.
‘I’m okay, I’m okay,’ he yelled.
I drew level with the Jackal, trying to give us as much cover as possible, and shuddered to a stop. All three of us piled out. I scrambled up on top of the turret swinging the machine gun into position. I could see the bobbing heads of a dozen insurgents running towards the village, firing as they went.
The gun jolted in my hands as I strafed the hillside. One by one I watched them fall as the trail of bullets overran them. A few of them turned in my direction to return fire but they were no match. I kept them in my sights and mowed them down.
I released my finger and could feel the heat from the barrel waft towards me. Job done.
Bootleg was beside me while Pat waited, crouched. We pushed and shoved Donk’s body off the top and lowered him to the ground. Then with one last effort he was laying on the floor in the Land Rover.
‘Feeling better now?’ Bootleg asked.
‘Much,’ I said as we powered up the dirt track away from the village.
‘Lima 1 this is Foxtrot 4, over,’ Pat shouted into the radio, while trying to pour water into Jono’s mouth.
‘Foxtrot 4, what is your status?’ The detached voice cracked through the speaker. Pat had already called into base and a Medical Emergency Response Team were on their way.
‘Lima 1, we are evac and enroute, repeat, evac and enroute. Request immediate medical support. Two down and one injured. Repeat, two down and one injured. Over.’
‘Roger that, Foxtrot 4. Support is in the air. Over.’
‘Roger that, Lema1. Out.’
‘The MERT are on their way.’
The village was fast disappearing into the side mirror. I was driving like a maniac and could hear the munitions banging against the floor of the truck as we lurched around.
‘Where are they taking him?’ I asked.
‘Role 3 hospital, Camp Bastion, it’s about sixty-five miles from here.’
‘Nice one. We could—’
There was a massive explosion and the Land Rover was lifted into the air on a ball of fire, spinning along its axis. The road seemed to be rising up to meet us. The whole world went into slow motion. The windshield folded in on me and I could feel a searing heat against my legs. The vehicle became a giant tumble dryer. Rifles, people and the bag of amo twisted and turned in mid-air. The structure of the Land Rover flexed under the force of the blast. We landed on our side and skidded off the road into a ditch. My driver’s side window shattered, showering my face with glass. We came to a juddering stop.
I looked across at Bootleg, he was staring directly ahead, held in place by his seat belt. I reached for my weapon and shook him by his left shoulder.
‘Get out!’ I shouted at him. ‘Open your door and get out.’ I hit his belt release and he toppled onto me. The left side of his head was missing. I screamed and tried to shove him away.
‘Pat, Pat, Bootleg is dead.’ I turned in my seat. The back of the land Rover was gone. I could see body parts, bits of metal and AK-47 magazines strewn across the road marking our direction of travel. The dirt track looked like a butcher’s block on a busy Saturday.
I fought my way around Bootleg and clambered over the back of my seat. My head felt like I had spent a week riding on a fairground waltzer. I sat down with a bump and keeled over onto my side. The debris on the road oozed in and out of focus. I felt a warm trickle of blood run across my face and the sharp sting of embedded glass. The taste of bile welled at the back of my throat. I blinked rapidly trying to clear my vision.
Then I saw movement.
I sat up and tried to get to my feet, but my legs buckled and I toppled over. I tried again and managed to plant my feet on the floor and stand in a half-crouch. I could see someone moving. It was Jono.
I hobbled over to where he was lying face down on the ground. His right leg was gone. Arteries and veins protruded from the ragged stump, pumping blood onto the road.
‘Aghhh,’ he croaked.
I pulled a tourniquet from the pocket in my sleeve and secured it in place, next I plunged another vial of morphine into what was left of his upper thigh.
‘It’s okay, Jono, the chopper is on its way.’ It was the only thing I could think to say. I staggered to my feet and wandered about looking for Pat. I only found enough of him to fit into a Tesco shopping bag. I located the remnants of the radio and what was left of Ryan. Then it struck me, the Taliban would have heard the bang. If there were any left, they would be heading my way.
I found a rifle and a hand gun and dragged a groaning Jono into a ditch as far from the road as I could. I returned and sliced open the sack of AK-47 magazines with my knife, scattering more of them over the road. I figured Terry Taliban might be more interested in them than us. I pulled the sacking free and returned to Jono, wrapping him in the material. All we had to do now was wait.
In the distance, I could hear two things. The whoop, whoop of two sets of massive rotor blades cutting through the air and the fierce revving of engines. I saw the dust trail from the trucks first. They were racing across the valley floor, heading our way. Two pickup trucks with men sat in the back.
